451: Collapse
by DevvieBunny
Summary: This book picks up a few years after the original "451," following the Liberated drone now that she has started her career in Starfleet. Though Four Fifty-one's family and the Collective are left very far behind, she finds that with every turn, she's pushed closer and closer towards them. Ebook Versions can be downloaded from the 451Collapse wordpress site.
1. Chapter 1: Purpose

**Prologue**

_The End_

Her shoulder hit the wall hard, causing Four Fifty-one to wince before taking the rifle from the security team. She didn't turn to them, holding out her hand and talking over her shoulder.

"How many?"

The security officer leaned down next to her, resting on the same wall.

"Seven or so here, a couple other groups throughout the ship."

She looked around the corner, observing the group of drones working away on a wall console. They probably knew her team was here, but she didn't want to lose the element of surprise if she had it.

"Uniform, battle."

The duty uniform that she wore rippled slightly as the nano-fibers rearranged themselves to conform to her command. The soft cloth hardened, forming adjustable plates, light and strong but terribly uncomfortable, especially rubbing against her implants. The tones also darkened in cascade, nearing black and accented only by the Captain pips on her collar.

Her team followed suit, the officer powering up his gun in anticipation.

"I thought we had a truce with them or something."

Four Fifty-one returned, placing her back flat against the wall. She powered up her sniper rifle, popping the scope off and tossing it to the ground.

"I am unsure we had any sort of formal arrangement. However, diplomacy is not Borg."

"Aye. So do we set up here and keep them from the bridge?"

"No. They always go to Engineering first."

She turned back to her group, pointing at the two farthest away from her.

"Lieutenant Raleigh, you will hold position here with your team, the rest with me."

The Lieutenant nodded back, motioning for her group to proceed to the other end of the corridor. The three stuck to the walls as they headed away.

Four Fifty-one pointed in the opposite direction, calmly delving out commands to the computer.

"Three for Ship-to-Ship. Engineering level."

She crouched, bringing her rifle up and calibrating the barrel with her Imager.

"Energize."

She was right. Just in the hallway outside main engineering there were at least four, caught totally by surprise. The team dropped them before they even had time to turn around.

Behind her, the officer was yelling to them between shots.

"Remember to vaporize them! We don't want any of these getting back up."

Staying as close to the corner as they could, the team made their way slowly down the corridor, stopping at the door to the second level. Four Fifty-one gestured one to the right, one to the left.

The team burst in, weapons ready to fire at anything that moved. They were greeted by silence and bodies.

As they neared the edge of the raised platform that served as the second level to the deck, a green and black device came into view, suspended from the ceiling. It sat quietly, the spinning light of the warp core casting a series of muted shadows about it. Below, bodies of her crew lined the floor, infected, ready to rise at a moments notice.

The officer on her left pointed with his weapon towards one of the felled crewmen. She shook her head no and held out her hand. He shrugged his shoulders and begrudgingly moved with her towards the catwalk in front of them.

"Four Fifty-one."

The voice reverberated around the metal in the room, but came to her as clearly as it had the day she'd first heard it. It was buried in a sea of other voices, but it was the strongest of the lot, as it always had been. The chorus behind the razor-sharp tongue was filled by those on the floor around them. Their mouths moved, but everything else about them was still, as in the last throws of death.

Four Fifty-one stood, and relaxed her rifle to the side.

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

The large device on the ceiling opened like a flower, thin spider legs lowering the occupant to the side of the suspended metal bridge opposite them. It was a woman whom Four Fifty-one recognized like no other.

The creature smiled and held her arms wide as if expecting an ovation. Her uniform was still clinging to her in pieces, dripping with wires and implants. She looked like the Collective had simply dunked her her in a vat of Borg technology. Each wire was drooling down her, a shimmering tar coating her thin body.

The contorted form took each step towards her as solidly and confident as it always had. Her face was unscathed, but still riddled with the years of machines running through her veins.

Four Fifty-one raised her gun again and centered the reticle on the woman's head.

"So, you're a Queen, now?"

A thousand laughs escaped the creature and were cut immediately short.

"Dear, I'd never allow myself to become something so worthless as a Queen."

Four Fifty-one re-gripped the rifle, keeping the shot lined up with its forehead. Her finger twitched on the trigger, eagerly vying to bring about the end.

"Then what is your purpose here?"

"To answer that question, for you."

The monster held out its hand.

"Come, let me show you what wonderful things the Hive has for you. Let me show you why we created you. Let me show you why we love you."

Four Fifty-one capitulated, as she could do no other, subservient to that voice that still haunted her. The reluctant hand quivered as it grabbed the creature's, its cold leaking down the arm of the demon's heart to their grip. Death and joy was grasped between their fingers, an embrace of pain, betrayal and love.

The monster's lips cracked open in a endearingly vicious smile as the room faded.

_The guardian angels of life sometimes fly so high as to be beyond our sight..._

~Jean Paul Richter

_**-1-**_

_Purpose_

She folded her arms, giving the clean white surfaces a once over before resting her eyes on the table that dominated the middle of the room. Aside from this, the chair she was occupying and the other just opposite her, there were no other objects in reach. They learned slowly, but they learned.

They were probably watching her now, some hidden camera in the walls most likely, waiting for anything. She expected no less. After all, they saw her as an enemy, even if they didn't realize it.

'Enemy' was probably inaccurate. They were more like opponents, in a game that both were determined to win. Both sides eyed the board carefully, waiting for an error from the other.

Eventually someone would slip and she would be there to seize the opportunity, like she had a dozen times before. She was always on the attack with them on the defensive, which made her the stronger one.

The door opened behind her and someone entered. There was no reason to look up, so she kept her eyes on the smooth tabletop. It was another doctor, another attendant, another person to ask her another set of stupid questions. Pointless questions that, by every right, aggravated her to no end.

The person took the open seat and laid a datapad on the table, situating themselves like it was a desk. She looked at him, but only because she had been forced into the habit after years of being around those like him. In her natural state, at least what she considered her natural state, she'd not given him a second glance, or even a first.

But, she had been tainted in her time here. She had been pushed, fighting back every step of the way, towards the side of her that she despised. Streams of humans had sat across from her, maybe even in this same room, and debated her identity. It was an identity that she clung to like she owned nothing else. In the end it was all she had.

At first she had responded with anger, nearly killing one. They had knocked her unconscious and dragged her away.

Since then, her responses were more leveled and calm. She did not did not feel that she had done something wrong, the questioner deserved every meeting with her fist that he got. She pulled herself back because she was not like them, prone to emotion. She was calm, collected and in control, above such outbursts, above them.

The man took a moment to read the pad in front of him like a book before tilting his head up to meet her gaze. The sturdy uniform held tightly to him, complete with overlapping patches and a rank insignia she did not recognize. He was not a doctor or an attendant.

"You've been here for a while?"

However, he did ask stupid questions.

She nodded.

"Three years, four months, seventeen days, four hours."

"That's quite some time."

There was no reason to respond. She sat there, arms crossed, waiting for him to drool his next line.

"I'll cut right to the chase."

"Do."

He broke his phrasing, obviously somewhat thrown by her retort. It was an unnecessary word. Perhaps these humans had more of an affect on her than she realized. She took the time between his sentences to contemplate it.

"You are most likely going to be here for a while longer."

"Not likely."

He smirked, not a reaction that she was expecting.

"Yes, I'm aware of your..."

He waited for a second before and after the next word, placing undue emphasis on it, like it was important.

"...desire to leave. One of the many reasons that you're still here. I believe you and I can reach an arrangement."

"How so?"

Now she was asking the questions. It felt odd.

"I am a representative of a group that wishes to enlist you."

"For what purpose?"

The man spun the pad that was laying on the table around and slid it towards her. She leaned forward to examine the device as though all the answers were written on it. There were lists of numbers with head shots of various individuals and short biographies. She was unsure what to make of the information, other than everyone was of the same configuration: her configuration.

He continued.

"We're restarting, or rather re-_invigorating_, a military operation and we are looking for those who are, well, like you."

"Reinforced."

"In a word, yes."

"And you want me to assist you in starting this operation?"

The man shook his head.

"No, we're well underway there. We are looking to start a special unit of individuals such as yourself for different, but related purposes."

She did not like that he spoke in riddles, but it was obvious that he was skirting around the information on purpose. There was no reason to press further, as that did not interest her.

"What is the entirety of your offer?"

"You join, serve two years and we let you go. Because of your battlefield experience once you complete Basic Training we will promote you to the rank of private first class. Then, you will undergo training and await possible deployment."

"What is to keep me from attempting escape?"

He shrugged, and pulled the pad back.

"I don't know. I don't care. I'm just here to give you the offer. Two years with us or three, four or maybe the rest of your life here."

"I will leave."

"So be it."

She nodded and returned to a more relaxed sitting position in the chair. This is an unprecedented opportunity. Here, in the hospital-turned-prison she was beginning to think that she would be incarcerated forever. This offer, however, gave her many more options to escape. When compared to her current itinerary of staring at a wall for sixteen hours a day, anything was an improvement.

"I accept your proposal."

"Good. I will let them know."

The man stood, taking the pad with him as he strolled towards the door like a salesman who'd just made a large commission.

She turned her head slightly, enough to project her voice in his direction, but not enough that either of them would feel obligated to make eye contact.

"Do I need to do anything?"

He stopped in the door-frame just long enough to respond.

"Nope. Don't go anywhere, though."

"I will not."

She could hear a brief laugh under his breath as he exited. One last half-hearted salutation followed him out of the room.

"Welcome to MACO, Three-Twelve."

Three-Twelve stood at the edge of the long, curved table that served as the workbench for the arts and crafts students. She knew he'd be here. It's where her brother always was when he wasn't being forced to do something else. He had found something that he liked doing, something that required him to speak little and be alone.

Two-Twenty looked up at her and then quickly back down, as if she wouldn't notice him here. Somewhere in that confused head of his he must have thought that if she couldn't locate him, then she'd never leave. He knew why she had come.

Three-Twelve made her way towards him. He kept taking hesitant sideways glances at her, pausing his project reluctantly when it was clear she had found him.

She sat in the chair next to him, looking at his current piece of work. Like most of his others, it was not done well, the face he had drawn was lopsided and emotionless. There was lots of work and heart, but no technical proficiency. In a way, it was its own sad testament to him, lost and directionless.

Placing her folded arms on the table she leaned close so she could speak softly.

"Two-Twenty?"

He stopped entirely, setting down the tool in his hand, defeated.

"Three-Twelve."

She struggled for a moment, trying to put what she needed to say in the order it would be cushioned best. There was no reason to do so, however. He would have accepted the information as bluntly or softly as she delivered it. He was capable of nothing else.

"I'm leaving."

"This one knows."

"I'll send you messages."

He shook his head slowly, not lifting his eyes to meet hers.

"You will not. The sisters forget this one."

"No, I won't. I'll send you something every chance I get."

"Four Fifty-one said the same. She said she would remember this one. She said she would send this unit messages, but it has been a year since this one has gotten anything."

"Four Fifty-one is very busy now that she's in Starfleet. It's not like the Academy anymore"

Three-Twelve patted his shoulder. She pushed the anger down, her words floating above the undercurrent of rage.

"She'll send you something soon, the second she gets a chance."

He shook his head again.

"She will not. The sisters forget this one."

There was no point in arguing. He had set his mind on it and it was, at least partially, true. Four Fifty-one had forgotten about him, and forgotten about her.

Three-Twelve pulled her arm back and stood, giving him one last pat on the back.

"I guess I'll have to prove you wrong."

He did not respond, returning to his work, finishing the eyes with a few quick strokes.

She stopped a moment as she moved in front of the workbench, looking directly at him, vying for his attention. He did not seem to be aware, examining his work thus far.

"I'll see you again, Two-Twenty."

With that, she left, heading away and out the door.

Two-Twenty placed a tear under the newly-drawn eye.

"Goodbye."

Two-Twenty enjoyed this hallway the most. It was the straightest on the station, proceeding from the center all the way to the farthest outstretched ring. It also had the fewest doors and the best illumination, lowering his apprehension about traveling alone.

He stuck to the right wall as he usually did, since that was where the light fixtures were located. He could walk on the darker side, but since he had a choice, it seemed best to stay where he could see everything.

A group of three walked out of one of the adjacent halls several meters in front of him, forcing him to slow and keep pace. He recognized two of them, doctors at the L.A.F. They were being flanked by a third whom he did not. It was a short female with brown hair, and a series of pads in her hands.

Two-Twenty immediately noted that the pads were a soft gray, and unlike the ones used by the staff on the station, appeared to be in near perfect condition.

The dark-haired woman was most likely associated with Starfleet in some manner. However, by the look of her clothing, she was not an officer of any kind. She lacked any sort of visible insignia, even though she was definitely in a uniform. The outfit also looked new, leading him to conclude that she had recently been dropped off by a starship, rather than a transport. The transport vessels rarely had the spare energy to replicate a new suit for every one of their passengers.

Since they had just come from the docking area, it was safe to assume that she did not bring anything with her. In fact, the pads were probably her only possessions.

He also noticed that when she slowed, she lifted her right leg a little more quickly than the left. It was the most logical conclusion that she sustained an injury at some point in the past that required re-constructive muscle surgery. The woman did not look to have the body type of a fighter, which meant the injury was most likely not received in battle.

The informal manner in which she spoke to the others lended itself to that deduction as well. She used the word "we" when "I" would have been perfectly appropriate, which Two-Twenty found odd. Usually humans liked referring to themselves as individuals rather than by their group designation. Her hand gestures were also very rare, and in terse, stiff motions when they did occur.

The conclusion was now unavoidable; the dark-haired woman was Liberated. Unfortunately though, her duration in the Collective could not be determined with such limited information. What was clear, with little observation needed, was that she was here to study them.

She was not the first, and she certainly would not be the last. Different groups of scientists had come to poke at the former drones before. He would not mind it so much if it did not interfere with his painting and sculpting. It could not be counted the number of times that his concentration on a piece of artwork had been broken to listen to a Federation scientist ramble.

Three-Twelve had not taken well to "research," either, striking a few. They eventually gave up, letting her stay in her room while the assemblies and interviews were held. Though he shared her distaste for the scientists, he did not understand her actions.

Or perhaps he did, and that is why he had such patience. Three-Twelve was an angel with steel wings, a warrior for and against everything. She was a slave to neither apathy nor reason. Anything that did not set her goals closer could be found lying at her feet.

This would push Three-Twelve to greatness, and he feared, tear it from her.

Two-Twenty turned left, heading down the corridor to his room, parting ways with the new arrival. An attendant was leaning against a support pillar, making a quick wave to the Liberated before lifting himself off of the wall.

"How goes the statue, Two Twenty?"

"The current piece is nearing completion."

"What are you making this time?"

"This one does not know."

The man let out a short laugh.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"This unit does not know what it is crafting."

"Then how will you know when you finish it?"

"Crazy ole' Two-Twenty. You're not quite all here, are you?"

Two-Twenty shrugged and pressed the button to open his door.

"That is what this one has been told."

He stepped into his room and let the door shut. His thoughts immediately wandered back to the Liberated woman in the hall. He had a feeling that they would be meeting again.

It was highly irregular, but not totally unheard of, to have an assembly on Wednesday. They usually did sculpting right now, which Two-Twenty very much enjoyed. Though he couldn't say that the sudden change of schedule didn't irk him some. He'd much rather be finishing up his most recent pieces than listening to another set of speeches.

The Liberated woman at the front paced back and forth while the remaining patients funneled in through the door to the small conference room. She walked with an animated gait that led Two-Twenty to believe that she was certainly not a Natal.

An implant jutted out of the back of her neck, which she was attempting to hide with her long brown hair. She was trying very hard to mask her origins, something that Two-Twenty understood. To be Liberated was to be lesser.

When the rest had taken their seats, she started, holding up a datapad in her hand like it was a scripture.

"We are having this assembly today to look for possible candidates for our Intelligence Division. This pad which you have all received contains a series of encrypted messages."

She looked about the room, making sure she had everyone's attention.

"The purpose of this exercise is to see if any of you have any deciphering abilities that might be useful to Starfleet."

Two-Twenty looked over the garbled words and numbers on the pad. It was definitely encrypted. Every alternating prime set was inverted based on a fairly simple logarithmic equation. He wrote it off to the side and began to pull apart the message.

The woman continued in the background, further explaining the testing procedure.

"...and when you're done, simply place the pad face down in front of you."

Two-Twenty did so, folding his hands in his lap. The assembly was aggravating, but at least it was short.

He took a moment to look at the others while he waited to be taken back to his room. The individual to his right was gnawing on the corner of the pad. Two-Twenty had the feeling that they were not going to score well.

The woman walked down the isles between them, before calling out "begin."

She paused at Two-Twenty's desk and tapped his pad, leaning down to whisper.

"You can begin now."

He did not look up.

"This unit has completed the assigned task."

"You can't have done it that quickly."

The woman picked up the device and looked it over, while Two-Twenty nodded apologetically.

"This one is sorry. It will attempt to go more slowly in the future."

"No, no no."

She gestured to the two orderlies standing by the door, who moved immediately to their position.

"He is one."

Two-Twenty shook his head.

"Incorrect. This unit is Two-Twenty."

The woman smiled at him like a parent to a simple child.

"Hello Two-Twenty. My name is Kelsey."  
"Hello Kelsey."

Two men escorted him out the door and down the hall to the staff side of the residential area. He was seated on a very soft couch in a room he did not recognize, though he had some inclination as to its location. The woman shooed the two attendants out and returned, sitting in a chair across from him.

She took another pad from the table beside her and began to tap on it while she talked to him.

"According to your profile you have two sisters, who are also Liberated?"

"Yes."

"Do they mean a lot to you?"

"Yes. The sisters are very important to this unit."

She smiled again, selecting a few things on the pad and handing it to him.

"One in Starfleet and the other in MACO?"

"Yes."

"What if I told you that you can help protect them?"

"Clarify."

"Well..."

Kelsey relaxed herself in the chair and pointed to the device in his hands.

"...you are wired to decrypt secured data, data that might be valuable to the Federation. By helping us get that information, you can help us keep them out of harm's way."

Two-Twenty cocked his head.

"You wish for this one to assist you?"

"Yes."

"This unit would enjoy painting more than decrypting information. We are missing sculpting right now."

Kelsey smirked and leaned forward on the arm of her chair. She pointed to the pad again.

"Agree to that and I'll make sure that the only thing you have to do is this and art."

"To protect the sisters?"  
"To protect the sisters."

Two-Twenty placed his thumb at the bottom, signing it and handed it back to her.

"This one wishes to finish the sculpture, first."

It was an art, this. More so than the painting he had going on one hand, but the pad he had in the other. His eyes would glance over a paragraph or so of garbled data on his left, and would return to the brush held in his right. Back and forth he would go, working on both at a relaxed pace that would take him hours, ending with both completed.

Sometimes Kelsey would watch them while he and the one other worked, but today she had excused herself. She said that there was a project she was working on, something to help them. Two-Twenty could not imagine what it was, since they were churning out data at "unprecedented" speeds.

"Unprecedented" was her word, not his. He had no idea what precedent was for decrypting these messages. But, since he was able to do artwork while he decoded, it was fair to say that it wasn't very quickly.

The timer at the front of the room gave a quick beep, announcing that it was time for lunch. Two-Twenty flipped the pad face down and stood, making sure the brushes he used were placed in the water before he left. There were eight blue handled ones, arranged by size, all at twenty degree angles to each other. He could not leave them any other way.

He took the door to the left, since he liked that one better, and headed down the hallway, sticking to the right wall. It was a longer path than if he had gone the other way, but he would have had to switch sides when he got to the cafeteria. It was preferable to stay on one wall for the entire journey.

Kelsey stopped him as he rounded the last corner, a wide smile on her face.

"Come, I've got something to show you."

She motioned over her shoulder as she turned and headed briskly down the corridor. Her legs moved so swiftly, that even with the shorter clip she was making considerable headway. Two-Twenty had to speed up to keep himself near.

He had not been on this side of the complex before now. They were not specifically forbidden from going over here, but he never had a reason to come this way. From what he understood, however, it was a series of storage rooms for cargo, both recent and not.

The information he was given looked to be an accurate representation. The entire hallway was a series of large, widely-spaced doors, about what one would expect for storage. The one they entered was large enough that two or three could pass through shoulder-to-shoulder.

Kelsey stopped at the center of the room, and pointed proudly to the two devices connected to the wall. The wiring was shoddy, but their function was unmistakable.

Two-Twenty stood beside her quietly for a moment until he realized that he was expected to respond.

"Borg Regeneration Alcoves."

She put her hand down and approached the free-standing console on the end.

"Yep. From this terminal here, we can feed in the encrypted data and you can work on it without having to use a cumbersome pad. Also, we've connected it up to the station's subspace transmitter so you can pull data directly from the databanks at Memory Alpha."

"This one will not be able to paint?"

"No, but you can regenerate while you work, so you won't need to eat or sleep. You'll have more free time."

"We are not allowed to use Alcoves."

Kelsey nodded to him as she typed on the console.

"Normally yes, but I've gotten special permission for this group to use the bays."

"Then it is decided."

"Get in. Give it a test drive."

She waved her hand towards the bay, willing him into one.

Two-Twenty complied and took the one closest to the right wall. It grabbed him like a magnet and pulled him snugly against the connectors.

At first there was nothing, but as the connections formed he sunk into the machine and out of himself. Torrents of data surrounded him in a field of nothingness, tornadoes twisting around uncontrolled. It was a feeling that he did not remember, but had the comforts of home all the same.

The swirls of information became clearer as he studied them, their purpose growing from them. Their threat fell away and he began bending the rivers to his needs. It was easier than he had expected. Each stream of data, each set linking to a billion other places. He could draw his finger along the line from one piece of data to the next. If he had a finger. If the concept of a line even existed here.

And then he came into contact with something. It was locked, secured from his reach, but it did not stay that way for long. Kelsey had brought him here to decrypt, and decrypt he did.

When the last seal had been broken, a treasure trove poured out, trillions upon trillions of messages, communications, orders and replies. Two-Twenty compiled a grouping of the most valuable of the lot and set to work deciphering the streams and checking them for useful data.

He pulled back and grabbed the encrypted data that Kelsey had sent him. He'd been neglecting it while he was working on other matters and he didn't want to raise suspicion. In a few short seconds the message code was broken and he sent it back.

Another was sent immediately. She suspected nothing. It was an art, this.

Two-Twenty snapped back into the open alcove, timing his arrival just as the female drone in the other bay released. The words "HERMES" flickered across his vision as the connection completed.

Initially, they had worked together on various decryptions, though it was soon apparent that she was too slow. So slow that he requested that they be separated. The female, Thirteen, was more of a hindrance than a help, he had argued. Considering the vast difference in data turnover, Kelsey agreed and separated them.

Since then, the two rotated in twelve hour shifts, so they were working around the clock. This left Two-Twenty in the peace and quiet that he enjoyed, which struck him as odd.

Since his disconnection he would often daydream about returning to the Collective, submerged in the sea of voices. He had wanted to be one of a trillion others, a small dollop of paint in a canvas that stretched across the stars. But the doctors had seen to it that he'd pull away from that soon enough.

Individualism was adored by the organics, collectivism revered by the Hive, but he saw no reason to do either. Over time, he'd gone from despising the concepts to merely being indifferent to them. There was much enjoyment to be found in the single voice, and now he could not imagine being any other way.

There was also comfort to be found in the company of other linked individuals, the source of true efficiency. However, conversation, even that fragmented kind experienced when in the alcoves, was a chore. He'd much rather work on his projects and be left well enough alone. For now, it seemed that was exactly what he had been afforded.

It had taken several weeks of cautious work to bring himself this close to his goal. He had taken every little step forward with calculated precision, drawing it together with a long string of near-failures. Today, he'd put all the pieces together, starting with the task of locating the proper database he wished to crack.

After several false starts, he found what he was looking for: a personnel record. The message it was attached to was sitting out on some set of servers somewhere, waiting to be read. It was fortuitous timing. He could open it, modify it if he wished, and no one would be the wiser. It had worked out almost too well.

If he were capable of smiling, he would have upon opening it. The sister looked so regal in her uniform, her ensign pip proudly sitting on her collar. He wished he could have been there for her graduation, but they would not let him leave, as if he were a danger to anyone.

Two-Twenty scrolled down the page, perusing the various other data accompanying her portrait. She had generally high marks from most of her professors, was an accomplished marksman as well as had significant strategic and hand-to-hand combat training. It was an above-average record, but not amazing.

Below that were a list of traits including words like "Efficient" and "Tactician" and the reason for the personnel report. She had just completed the Academy and was awaiting for her first assignment. It appeared that she was in line to be put on a Sabre-class ship patrolling the Klingon border.

He pulled up a list of engagements for that area and charted it over the past few months. This would not do. She could be hurt there, or worse.

Two-Twenty looked for another ship to place her on. After riffling through a few thousand he found a lonely Centaur-class vessel pulling freight duty near the Sol system. This was much safer. He modified the message, moving the sister there. Here she would be safe.

He re-encrypted it, taking careful steps to ensure that it did not look to have been altered. Once satisfied that the communique gave every indication that it was untampered, he sent it on its way. It flew from him as it hit the stream, rushing towards its destination in due order.

Two-Twenty pulled the data that he was supposed to be decrypting and got to work on it. It was a lot of effort, but worth the wait. As the algorithms pulled apart and slung themselves back together he couldn't help but take a quick glance to the vast untapped resources around him. He wondered what other things he could get his fingers into, since the entire Federation subspace network was now his playground.

The message decrypted in front of him, and he sent it back, patiently relaxing before the next set. He tinkered a bit here and a bit there. While he waited, he unlocked a few new streams he would want to look at later, but he did not rush. Here, he was beyond the grasp of time, hours compressed to minutes and back out again. In this rolling world of data-streams he was everything, but more importantly, he was nothing.


	2. Chapter 2: Relegate

_We work to become, not to acquire._

Elbert Hubbard

_**-2-**_

_Relegate_

The Imager scanned over the panels in her immediate field of vision while she slowly rotated in the weightless air-impoverished environment. Four Fifty-one was spinning horizontally to the floor, allowing her to see all the consoles as quickly as she could.

A notification popped up in her vision, warning her of the depletion of oxygen in her system. She had eighteen seconds before she would need to return to the sealed door to catch a few breaths.

This was not her normal assignment, at least as far as her department was concerned. The red stripes on her collar designated her as Tactical, not Engineering. But, the Avarayr came under attack about as often as it got new Liberated Borg crew-members. That is to say, never.

Not that she particularly desired a fight. She was happy to guard freight as it was run from one quadrant to another or scan a nebula here or there. No one died and no one got hurt, aside from brushes with their own stupidity. Best of all everyone left her alone, just how she liked it.

Four Fifty-one had risen fairly steadily in rank on her few years aboard this vessel, mostly due to the high turnover rate. The slow depressurization of this deck was the most exciting thing to happen in months. Few people stuck around for action such as this.

It was a good thing she'd happened along when the deck's seal broke. She was glad to help. There was no lying to herself, though. The only reason she was here, besides someone else, was certainly not because she was more qualified. An Engineer, _any_ Engineer, would be faster than her at finding the right panel.

Nor was it because she was better equipped. A small personal respirator, and someone could be right where she was, probably for longer.

She was here because she was expendable. This was of course not in the sense that they had a large crew, or lots of Tactical officers; they had few of either. It was because she was a Liberated Borg, a "bog," and there were trillions of them just like her out there. As far as any crew-member was concerned she was a number like any other, possibly worse than any other.

Her Imager lit up, highlighting the console in front of her and indicating the correct button sequence. Reaching out to grab one of the metal hand-holds with her gloved hand, she lined herself up on it. Her other one casually tapped the console, snapping it to life, chorused by the hiss of the Environmental Control System gathering power.

Gravity returned too, trying to throw her to the ground as her weight came back. Her grip on the metal handle tightened, and she steadied herself for the trip down.

Four Fifty-one landed on her feet just as the lights began to come back on. After a few seconds, the door she had entered through swished open and produced two men in yellow-lined shirts with toolboxes in hand. She passed them with a nod and exited the way she came.

One of them slapped her on the back as she left.

"Good job, Tack."

A woman was standing outside the door, fidgeting like she was waiting for someone. She gave a wide-eyed look of recognition before approaching, throwing a causal smile on as well. Her civilian clothing and hair, both loose and yellow, were pulled back like she was in a wind tunnel.

"Four Fifty-one?"

She stopped.

"Yes?"

"Hi, I'm Melissa."

Four Fifty-one continued on her way, the woman in tow and still talking.

"I'm new to the U.S.S. Avarayr. I'm supposed to report to you."  
"You are not in uniform."

"Well, no. I thought I'd say 'Hi' unofficially before I showed up tomorrow."

Four Fifty-one stopped at the door to the Security office. It opened obediently, waiting for them to move inside.

"You have done so. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"I was wondering what would be expected of me when I show up."

"Do you know your regulations?"  
"Well, yes, I do."

"Then you know what is expected."

Melissa nodded sheepishly.

"Of course. Um, one other thing, if I could."

Four Fifty-one sighed.

"Yes."

"Everyone's been telling me that your name is Tack, but you're listed as Four Fifty-one on the roster. Is that your actual name?"

She shook her head and placed one hand against the wall for support, trying not to grumble too hard.

"No. On duty, you will refer to me as Four Fifty-one or Lieutenant-Commander. Off-duty, however, I cannot control what nicknames you choose."

"Oh. Okay. So you prefer Four Fifty-one?"

"Preference is irrelevant. However, that is the most accurate designation."

Melissa smiled and took a step back, preparing to leave.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Four Fifty-one."

"You are not on duty now."

She turned and started to walk away.

"Yep."

Four Fifty-one lifted herself off of the wall and proceeded to her desk in the empty room. She kept her seat at the farthest back corner, away from the door. There were piles of things scattered about, most related to her job, and a collection of awards along the wall behind her desk. Other than that the office was bare.

She swiveled the computer interface at her desk towards her and powered it on. Various tactical information she had been studying, along with a few personal projects, littered the screen. One by one she moved them out of the way, or closed them so she could see the most important thing she owned.

Behind the mess, there she was, wearing something she rarely put on: a smile. She was clutching another human who wore the same expression as her. Four Fifty-one stared at him for a moment, and a smile slid onto her face, unknowingly betraying her. With a finger, she traced the edge of the man's cheek on the screen, and her expression fell.

She was alone, just how she liked it.

The dark man in the Tactical uniform burst into her office without ringing the chime. He wagged a pad in his hand as he approached, his usual stern look etched into his face. She acknowledged him, as if she had any other choice.

"Commander Akuji."

He did not return the greeting, throwing the pad onto her desk.

"Minutes from the senior staff meeting."

His language was terse and truncated. Under another circumstance she may have welcomed the lack of verbosity, the less wasted words the better. But, by careful study, she had learned to read him, and most of the others. She did not like the unsaid words being thrown at her.

Four Fifty-one turned the pad around and examined it carefully.

"If I were included in the meetings, this would not be necessary."

"That isn't going to happen."

She did not respond, continuing to scroll down the list. In any other case, this silence might be awkward. Awkward, if that situation involved two people who had any interest in speaking to each other.

"This is similar to a project I was already undertaking. I believe these yields can be achieved."

Akuji folded his arms.

"Good. I told them that your kind was good with numbers."

"That is not always accurate."  
"Accurate enough."

Four Fifty-one stopped there. This would turn into an argument, one she would not win, even if she did.

"We have a new team member, Melissa. I was not aware that we were taking on new crew."

"Yes, we did not feel that you needed to know beforehand."

"I am not to know why we are researching these modifications as well?"

"Yes."

Four Fifty-one handed the pad back to him, the data recorded in her Imager. She would look over it in more detail later.

"You do realize that this only points towards one conclusion."

Akuji took the pad and grunted.

"This points towards nothing. Mind your station, like a good drone."

She folded her hands and leaned back in her desk chair.

"Of course."

The Commander turned and headed out the door in one swift move, as though insulted. When the door had shut, Four Fifty-one stood and made her way to the replicator.

She stood for several seconds, quietly putting down the rebellion in her. Before she knew what had been done, her fist was planted in the wall, the metal giving slightly to her thrust.

A sigh escaped her, as she fought her quickening breath. Calmly and with purpose, she retracted her arm, but not before giving the new dent a brief caress, an apology of sorts. She placed her hand behind her back and selected an item from the menu with the other.

In a spinning circle of light, a small bowl of soup appeared in the device. She grabbed it, even though it was nearly too hot to hold, and took it back to her desk, setting it on her removed glove. Her hand tightened on the searing cup, forcing the burning in her fingers to fight the burning in her chest. Once the two had tired of each other, and the feelings had been sufficiently buried, she set the cup in front of her.

Relenting to one last deep breath, Four Fifty-one resumed her work on the computer, her fingers flying over the display, tingling as the pain left them. She returned to what she had been doing, like a good drone.

The pads were stacked in precarious piles all over her quarters, sitting in chairs and on the bed, like visitors waiting to be entertained. She'd get to them all eventually, but some would have to wait.

Four Fifty-one realized that she didn't need this many, certainly not the hundreds she had replicated and collected. Her entire collection here could be easily stored on two, possibly three tops. She kept them so the room felt less empty, less without.

Each pad was covered in page after page of information: schematics, data, assortments of tables and graphs, all well organized. An untrained observer looking about would assume that she was very busy, very important, very wanted. Her collection lied so she did not need to.

Four Fifty-one let out a slight sigh and sat at the only free chair in the room. She only needed one.

The project was not supposed to get this big, at least not initially. She'd simply been searching for various odds and ends: a way to punch up a torpedo a bit, maybe an equation to give the deflector array a little more resilience.

In the end it was all pointless. This ship hadn't so much as raised its shields in months. It seemed an unfathomable waste.

It was not the ship. The ancient Centaur-class vessel that she served on was well over a century old, having undergone a seventh refit. This metal discus could no more stand up to a Borg cube than a well-made 15th-century trebuchet. The waste was her.

She was bred and built by the Borg for combat. She'd spent years in training at Starfleet to fight on a starship. Yet, here she was, staring at a datapad, like she had for the last hundred hours over the last hundred days.

It was the worst use of her talents that could be devised, and she'd have it no other way. She'd been given a specific course in life and followed it to the letter. She'd done everything that had been requested of her, exactly as it had been prescribed. Every opportunity had been grasped and each step had been taken in perfect order, and she wanted nothing of it.

She wanted to sit here, alone, in silence and pour over her data. She wanted to build models of battles she would never take part in and run them until every drop of information had been wrung into charts.

Four Fifty-one took three of the pads and placed them in a row in front of the single console in her room. If the number of conversations were any indicator of familiarity, she was about to have a talk with her best friend.

"Computer."

It chimed back, waiting for commands.

"Ready."

"Analyze data on these three pads. Organize into a table by ship class. Sort by last mission date."

"Working."

The screen in front of her flashed on as the information was filtered, sending pictures and words careening across it. If she were more poetic she might even describe it as a sort of fireworks display.

"Done."

Four Fifty-one stepped closer and began to examine the way that the information had been organized. The pattern seemed to emerge the same across all ship classes.

A grimace crossed her face as she realized that her observation had been accurate. It was consistent and unwavering.

"Computer. Remove all ships except those similar to the Avarayr."

"Done."

Snatching the three pads from the table, Four Fifty-one took off out the door towards Engineering. She had hoped that it was just an oddity, but the data spoke otherwise.

Her days of quiet solitude were numbered.

"There can be at least a five percent increase in output if we implement these changes."

Four Fifty-one pointed at the equations that lined the side of the schematic on the screen. She'd fought this battle before, and lost, but it was her job – her nature – to continue to return until the problem was resolved. She would keep arguing this point until Lieutenant Darren gave in and implemented the changes.

"Listen, Four Fifty-one, it may take days to modify those systems and for what? Five percent? At best?"

"They are not working at their proper efficiency. We must make sure that-"

The Lieutenant shook his head as he interrupted.

"Do you know the last time we fired phasers, at _anything_?"

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"One year, seven months, three days..."

"Alright, stupid question. But, that doesn't change the fact that we just don't use them enough to waste the manpower. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if we powered them up and nothing happened."

"You can run a full diagnostic while you are making the modifications."

Darren rubbed his temples while she slid the screen to the next picture.

"I have an additional argument for you."

"Oh good."

The image on the screen contained a series of Starships, probably over a hundred, all small frigates similar to their own. The pictures were tiny, but evenly spaced across the entire display.

She gestured towards them with an outstretched hand, like she was going to shuffle them right there.

"I was looking at what other crews have done to get more power out of ships like the Avarayr. As of four months ago, these were all the starships of similar make to our own."

He shrugged.

"Okay."

Four Fifty-one pressed a button on the pad and a few of them went away.

"Now, this is a month later."

She pressed it again. Ten or so more ships blinked and disappeared.

"Another month, and another."

Each press dispatched more and more of them, until less than half of the original number remained. Their's was one of them.

The Lieutenant furrowed his brow before asking the obvious question.

"What happened to them?"

"Destroyed in combat."

"All of them?"  
"Yes."

"Why?"

Four Fifty-one gave a quick swipe across the screen with a gloved finger.

"I ran a query for all lost or destroyed ships over the last six months, and the same pattern emerged. Recently, there has been a significant loss of ships, with the smaller ones faring worst in terms of percentage."

Darren sighed heavily, his eyes intent on the numbers on the console.

"Ensign th'Arak!"

A pale blue Andorian turned away from his console and began to make his way towards them. His head was bowed slightly, like he was expecting to get berated.

When he came into the Lieutenant's sight, Darren continued, dropping the volume of his voice.

"I need you to take a team and start augmenting some phaser arrays. We might need to run a full diagnostic while we're at it."

He pointed to Four Fifty-one.

"This argumentative little woman has some schematics for you."

She lifted a pad off of the console and handed it to the Ensign.

The Lieutenant turned back towards Four Fifty-one when th'Arak had walked away, examining the chart's contents. He grunted like it was taking all of his effort to force the question out of his mouth.

"This leaves several questions. For one, why hasn't Starfleet made any announcement about losing so many starships?"

Four Fifty-one slid the picture back, bringing up the list of remaining vessels and a small starmap.

"I would conjecture that they are hoping for a peaceful solution."

He nodded back.

"Peaceful solution? With whom?"

"Uncertain. Much of the logs are classified. However, the vast majority were last seen in this region."

He didn't even need to hear her say it, recognizing the territories immediately.

"Aldebaren Sector, heading towards Risa."

"Yes."

"Do you think that we're going to go to war?"

"No," she shook her head, "I think we already are."

"...and done. Beat ya."

The Ensign spun the rifle vertically on her leg, acting like it was on display. She sat and smiled in self-satisfaction, awaiting appraisal.

Slapping the battery into the bottom of her own weapon, Four Fifty-one took a quick glance at Melissa's.

"You are very efficient."

"High praise from a Liberated."

Four Fifty-one shot her a stern look, which she understood immediately.

"I mean, thank you, Lieutenant-Commander."

She set the weapon down on the floor and picked up the next one to examine. It seemed a rather pointless gesture, taking apart and putting back together all these weapons. Most of them hadn't been fired since they were built. However, routine was routine and Four Fifty-one rarely deviated from it.

"Can I ask-"

Melissa stopped herself and restated the sentence.

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

She hesitated before pulling the jacket off of the stock and picking up a tricorder with her other hand.

"How long were you, you know, in there?"

Melissa pointed to the Imager that took up the left side of Four Fifty-one's head.

She didn't need to look up. This wasn't the first time she'd fielded this question.

"The Collective?"

The Ensign nodded.

"My entire life up until about seven years ago."

"You're a Natal?"

"Yes."

Melissa's eyes got wide as she checked the tricorder.

"Wow. That's got to be weird, huh?"

"No. I have no other frame of reference."

"Oh, right. So do you, like, remember things from being in there?"

Four Fifty-one put the phaser down and stood, making her way across the armory, checking each locker one by one.

"I have vague recollections, but they are most likely not mine."

"They store other people's memories in you?"

Closing the unused lockers, Four Fifty-one returned to the Ensign to pick up a few checked weapons and return them.

"Not precisely. The Borg Hivemind treats the mental capacity of its drones as a sort of cloud to store and analyze data. The information kept in my mind was fragmented, only valid if connected to a whole, and rapidly changing. Once I was disconnected, the data was rendered useless."

She placed two phasers into their carriages and slapped the button to lock them in place.

"The larger pieces of information form memories, while what the brain cannot readily identify or extrapolate from, is forgotten. This is of course largely conjecture. Much of the Collective's inner workings are not well-understood."

Melissa placed the last rifle with the others, quietly as if she were being told a story. She broke the silence after a few seconds of contemplation.

"I've heard that inside the Hive it's like thousands of people whispering to you, isn't it?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

Melissa shrugged.

"Just curious is all, and I thought maybe we could be friends."

"I do not believe I would make a good friend for you."

The Ensign shrugged again, taking the two remaining rifles with her to their assigned locker.

"Yeah, that's kinda of a running gag with you Liberated. Nobody seems to want to have anything to do with you and you don't seem to care."

"It is a common trait."

Shutting the locker, Melissa made her way towards the door. She had the gait of a Ferengi who was about to swindle someone out of a large sum of money.

"You like not having any friends?"

"I have much to do."

The Ensign rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, 'cause this ship is a bustle of activity."

"There is much to be done."

"Well, I'm not going to force friendship on someone who doesn't want it."

"You will transfer out soon enough."

Four Fifty-one shut the locker and grabbed a pad from a nearby table.

"After your lunch break I will need to give you a tour of the other lockers on the ship."

Melissa held out her hand.

"Sounds good. Friends?"

Four Fifty-one looked at the open palm, but declined to acknowledge it, leading them into the hall. The Ensign kept up with her, holding her hand out, demanding.

"Look, if you don't want to be my friend, then I guess I can start calling you 'Tack' like everybody else."

She reluctantly shook the Ensign's hand.

"I will consider your offer."

Melissa hit the fist-sized button for a second time, following it quickly with a third and a fourth. She finally gave up and turned back to Four Fifty-one who was watching with suppressed bemusement. The Ensign threw her hands in the air, favoring the one she had been using to attack the wall.

"Well, are you going to help me?"

"What if we're being attacked and you need to get this weapons locker open?"

"Then I guess I'll get someone to help me."

"And if there is no one?"

"Then I'll die."

Four Fifty-one uncrossed her arms and struck the button once, hard. The wall spun, revealing an organized collection of weapons in mint condition.

"We agree."

She continued while the Ensign examined the rack's contents.

"There are two of these on every deck, similar location on each. Two on the Bridge and one in Engineering."

"Why are they so hard to open?"

"During our last refit, it was not deemed necessary to install automatic dispensing units."

Melissa nodded, checking over the collection.

"So, which one is you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, which one is you? What's your weapon of choice?"

Four Fifty-one stood up straight, almost at attention.

"I will select the appropriate weapon for the task at hand."

The Ensign laughed.

"Oh, whatever. I bet you have a favorite. Let me guess."

She walked back and forth in front of the rack, examining each as in a police line-up.

"You're not the pistol or phaser kind of person. Too little grip. You need a rifle, something you can wrap two hands around and control."

Melissa pulled up a standard Mark IV rifle, shook her head and put it back down.

"But not that kind."

Four Fifty-one turned back to the neglected pad in her hand, continuing the tour.

"Ensign, this is not a valid use-"

"This."

She held up the barrel of a sniper rifle, leaving the stock still pivoting on the grips that held it in the wall-case.

Four Fifty-one pushed the weapon back down into its slot and punched the button to make the locker spin. Melissa jumped back, her uniform nearly catching in the shelf as it folded back into the wall.

"We are done here."

"I'm right, aren't I? A loner weapon. Anyone gets too close and bam!"

Melissa acted like she was pushing something away from her.

Four Fifty-one ignored her comment and continued down the corridor, arms behind her back.

"There are supplementary armories on every even numbered deck..."

She stopped cold, tilting her head slightly to one side. The Ensign looked around, trying to determine what she was looking at.

"Lieutenant-Commander?"

After a second of silence, Four Fifty-one turned towards the confused Ensign.

"It feels like we have changed course."

"I didn't feel anything."

Four Fifty-one tapped a console on the wall.

"Computer, current heading and destination."

It chimed back, taking a second to respond.

"Current Heading is 3-1-7-2-0-mark-8. Destination: Risa Sector"

"Risa Sector."

Melissa cocked her head.

"Yah. Why do you suppose we're headed there?"

She walked briskly away, leaving the confused Ensign scrambling to stay with her.

"I fear you may be learning much more about our weapons in the near future."

Melissa was in a near jog, trying to keep pace.

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Again, we agree."

Four Fifty-one met Darren in the hall, both giving a brief nod like they were searching for each other. Melissa was still in tow, just as confused but lighter on her feet, staying with the two. All of them slowed considerably when it became apparent that they were the only ones treating this as an emergency.

The Lieutenant was the first to speak, giving quick glances to the additional person with them.

"We've changed course."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"Yes."

"Who's that?"

"Ensign Melissa Raleigh. Recent Academy graduate."

Melissa gave a small wave to Darren, who returned in kind before coming back to Four Fifty-one.

"Captain wanted warp 8. We'll be lucky if this thing doesn't fly apart."

"How much time until we reach our destination?"

"Only a few minutes now."

She slid her finger down the pad in her hand, selecting a set of equations and technical specifications from a long list. Though she had foreseen needing them today, it was fortuitous that she had remembered to throw them on the device.

"I have an additional set of ideas for the shield arrays. However, with the given equipment on this ship there is only so much that can be accomplished."

Darren reached out and grabbed the pad when she offered it, taking a quick glance over the data.

"Preaching to the choir."

The group turned and walked together down the corridor, towards the Observation Lounge. They seemed to be the only ones rushing, the rest of the crew relaxed as if it were yet another day.

"I don't know how much good these changes are going to do in an actual fight."

"Perhaps we will find out more when we reach our destination."

Melissa held up her finger.

"Um, fight with who?"

Darren shrugged as they entered the large Forward Lounge, returning to his reading.

"Wish we knew. Hopefully, no one."

There were others gathered as well, scattered in small groups around the room. They eyed the three and then returned to their respective conversations. It was a fair guess that all of them were there for similar reasons. A sudden course change at such a high speed was uncommon and rarely meant anything good.

The three took up positions near the front of the large set of windows that formed an entire wall of the room. Melissa fidgeted nervously.

The way the deck was structured, with the large facing window curved outward, one could stand at the center and see nothing but space. Stars streaked towards them, giving the impression that they were falling headfirst into the universe. The white lines proceeding over the black background were so simple, yet so impressive.

Stepping up to the shielded glass, Melissa rested herself on the railing, taking a few long glances out of the window.

"So, what are we looking for?"

Four Fifty-one joined her, using the metal bar as an excuse to lean as far forward into the starfield as possible.

"Unknown. Any sign of military involvement."

"Like what, an army?"

Darren put down the pad and joined them.

"This is your area of expertise, Four Fifty-one. What should we be expecting?"

They both looked at the Lieutenant-Commander, as she reluctantly pushed herself up from the railing.

"The path of incursion into Federation territory does not indicate that it is an invasion. The targets thus far seem to be outposts and communications systems, anything in a direct line from the starting point. Planets and starbases that would be prime occupation territories have been ignored."

The Ensign kept her eyes out to the stars, like she was hoping to be the first to see it. She did not turn away as she spoke.

"So they're heading somewhere specific."

"It appears so."

Darren looked at her intently, urging her on.

"Back to the original question: What are we looking for?"

"A defensive armada, most likely. Thirty or forty vessels at least."

The ship's hum came down a bit, grumbling as the Avarayr's impulse engines reluctantly powered on. The vessel slid forward, a delicate skater dancing into place, its gracefulness misrepresenting its age.

The room fell dead silent as everyone stared out the window at the mass of metal and blinking lights slowly moving around them. It looked like a hundred gray fish weaving through each other, all preparing for an underwater ballet.

Melissa retracted her mouth, which had been agape since they slowed down.

"An armada like that?"

"Yes."

"And what's that?"

She pointed out towards the large semi-hexagonal structure that hung just behind the gathering of starships. It appeared to be nearly completed, but still clearly unfinished. Large cables and metal struts wrapped around it, leaving the center open wide enough to push through a small moon.

Darren shook his head.

"I have no idea."

Four Fifty-one crossed her arms and verified her Imager's identification.

"I do."


	3. Chapter 3: Ménage

_I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. _

_Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind._

Laurie Halse Anderson

_**-3-**_

_Ménage_

They should have known better than to leave her alone in a room with a working console. If anyone had taken the time to go over her profile, they would not have let her out of their sight. In a way this was their fault.

Three-Twelve ran her hand over the display, breaking the encryption keys as fast as she was able. There was one thing she had gotten good at doing at the L.A.F., and it was hacking her way into these old systems. It had lost almost all of the challenge.

The voices outside got louder and faded as people passed, compelling her to type faster. The screen flashed, bringing up floor plans of the MACO base she'd been living in these last two months. She would have given anything to have her sister's Imager right about now, just record everything and be done.

The building was much different than the training complex she had been in for the previous year-and-a-half. Most notable was the lack of security. This was a proper military base, designed to keep people out, not in.

From the scrolling diagram, she got the impression that the complex was much larger than it appeared from the inside. It looked like a bubble on the surface of the moon; only a bit of it poked out of the ground, the rest of the conical building buried into the rock.

It was no wonder it had been in use for so long. It probably took years to build and was nearly impervious to an orbital assault. The lack of an atmosphere also meant that anyone wanting to take the location would be best served by blowing up the moon than landing and trying to take it with troops.

This included those that wanted to get off of it as well, as there was no ground route out. The only way to leave was via a ship in the base's hanger. If the security on the station was worth its weight, then she wouldn't get that far anyway.

Three-Twelve paused for a moment, listening to the approaching set of voices outside. They were muffled by the walls, but one was recognizable.

Backing out of the screen, she made a quick hustle to her chair. She had just hit the seat, situating herself stiffly like she had been waiting for a while, when the door swished open.

The Colonel entered with his aide, setting his things on the desk and taking a seat.

"Three-Twelve?"

"That is correct."

He huffed to himself as he looked back to his pad.

"Can never keep all you Bogs straight. Just a bunch of damn numbers."

"Perhaps I should give you a reason to remember me."

The response wasn't as good as her fist, but it would have to do. She was fully aware of the repercussions of angering an officer. Most did not appreciate the admission of Liberated into MACO ranks, and they made no attempts to hide it.

He grunted before continuing, more than she was expecting.

"As you are aware, you have been assigned here prior to deployment."

"Yes."

"We may be moving into a conflict, and the higher-ups feel that with a few more minor tweaks Sigma will be ready to go."

She simply nodded and waited for him to continue.

"Your training scores over the last year or so are very high, and you're one of the few ranked individuals we have here. I imagine you'll end up as a Squad Leader of some kind."

"As it should be. I am the most suited for the position."

"Confidence is good, but you'd do best to stow the ego."

"I prefer to keep both."

"I'll break you of that soon enough."

The Colonel tapped the pad and stared at Three-Twelve, a mean smile growing across his face. A deep uncomfortable avarice showed itself on his lips, but faded as soon as it came. She squirmed uncomfortably from the insinuation, but kept herself stoic.

"I may be more resilient than you imagine."

"Perhaps. But I like a challenge."

He stood and motioned towards the door.

"That is all. You are dismissed."

Three-Twelve stood as well and headed through the exit in silence, meeting Seventeen just outside of the door. He gestured to her as she exited, causing Three-Twelve to pause momentarily before continuing down the hall.

"Seventeen."

"Three-Twelve."

The Medicament Drone took a step forward, placing himself squarely in the door-frame. He took a quick look inside before responding.

"Are you joining the rest of us tonight?"

She shook her head.

"No. I have just been placed on an active status. Also, I have other plans this evening."

"So I heard."

She tensed.

"About what?"

"The status change. I could hear through the wall."

Seventeen indicated a small audio implant where his right ear would have been.

"Oh. Well, thank you."

"You are welcome."

The words came out of him akin to a tape recorder repeating someone else's response in his voice. It felt flat and rehearsed. Three-Twelve nodded and moved away, like she should have done instead of thanking him. Right now, she had a promise to keep.

Three-Twelve hit the man with so much force that he bounced off of the wall before heading to the ground. She'd not intended to lay into him so hard, but the surprise of his appearance forced it out of her. In the same swift move that sent him tumbling forward, she retrieved the weapon from his holster and took off towards the elevator.

Her feet hit the floor with the same frenzied pace that had brought her to that point, moving her to the other end of the main corridor with lightening speed. There was no time to slow; a few more seconds and they'd realize that she was out, then everything would be locked down. The game would be over.

She slapped the control for the lift and spun into the room, the phaser pistol out in front of her. The doors closed slowly but without incident and the elevator began its ascent. So far, this had been much less work than expected.

If her memory was correct, on the seventh floor was a hanger. From there she could hijack a ship and be gone. It was almost too easy.

Three-Twelve pulled herself back from celebrating just yet. She had been this far before at the L.A.F. and been foiled.

They had stupidly left one of the shuttles unlocked in a bay, and she had taken advantage of it. Her trip ended at the edge of the system, where she was intercepted and detained by a Federation vessel. Not with out a fight though, all but guaranteeing that she had no future with Starfleet.

It was amazing that a bunch of brains in labcoats were better at stopping her than a military outfit. If this was the best they could do, she may have to reconsider joining them.

The elevator lurched to a halt, powering down. They knew she was missing.

A display on the wall above the door read "Floor 4: Storage." There were two options: Sit here and wait for them to come get her or blast her way out. At this point, she could almost guarantee that on the other side of that door were a group of armed MACO soldiers. She could fight them, but someone might get seriously hurt, or worse, she might lose.

The elevator itself was suspended in an airless shaft that ran the outside of the buried building. The only directions of escape took her straight into an area with no atmosphere. Though no stranger to airless environments, it was still not as comfortable as a simple lift ride.

Three-Twelve examined the interior, sizing up her options. Around the base of the wall were several vents, not bigger than a half-meter. At the top was a flat metal roof that looked barely thick enough to keep the air in. Her choice was made.

She crouched down, aimed her weapon at the ceiling and fired. The second the shot hit, she jumped. The atmospheric stabilizers responded to the depressurization, propelling her forward through the hole like a cannon. The force was greater than she had expected, throwing her out against the moon's weak gravity at a slow, but steady pace.

Her throat clenched up, an implant in it forcing the windpipe closed to prevent damage. It bothered her every time it activated involuntarily, like her own body was trying to strangle her.

The painted floor numbers on the side were rushing past her at a methodical clip.

Five... Six... Seven...

Three-Twelve grabbed the metal beam that marked the base of the floor, bringing her to a halt. She was significantly lighter outside of the base's artificial gravity, making the trip up to the door fairly quick. Placing her hands at the crack down the center of the sliding entryway, she began to pull them apart. If there were more air, she would have been grunting as the hunks of metal fought to stay together.

After much work, the atmosphere began to leak through, nearly knocking her off balance. She slid her fingers farther in, and pulled harder. Once the doors were far enough agape to allow her to slip through sideways, she let go, and started the even more demanding task of fighting the rushing wind to enter.

Wrapping one hand around the inside as an anchor and pulling herself through, she managed to claw her way into the hanger. Three-Twelve spun on the floor and grabbed the doorhandles, using what little strength there was left to close them.

When the atmosphere stabilized, her throat unclenched on cue, leaving her gasping for air as she struggled to stand.

She stumbled forward, her skin cracking as it thawed and resealed. Three-Twelve fought her instinct to take big gulps of air, forcing her breathing to a slow deep rate.

For a military base, there weren't very many good escape options. The armored troop carrier was her favorite of the grouping, but it was too slow. The shuttles were skipped over as well; she'd learned her lesson there.

At the far end was a lone gunship, shiny almost to the point of being a flying mirror. It was built for ground-to-air battles, small, light and maneuverable. Perfect.

Three-Twelve pushed herself onward, weaving her way through the poorly-organized hanger. She wished she had time to pick up some of the weapons that were surely in the cargo crates here. A few rifles might do her some good in the future.

Her hands flattened on the outside of the gunship as soon as she reached it, examining the hull for a way in. Each finger slid along the smooth surface looking for a crack or raised area that might be a control panel.

The door beside her opened.

Ducking behind a set of boxes, she fired a few shots for cover while looking for a place with a better vantage point. There was no accessible cover in the immediate area. She was pinned.

"They told me you'd try to do something like this, Three-Twelve. There's nowhere to go."

The Colonel's raspy voice was unmistakable, and right. There was nowhere for her to go, so she certainly wasn't escaping, which meant there was only one thing left to do: re-evaluate her goals.

Three-Twelve yelled out over the boxes.

"I can still get you."

The Colonel laughed.

"I think that you are confused about who has the most guns."

Her hatred for the man knew no bounds, welling up just at the sound of his voice. She clicked her weapon over to kill, decided that it wasn't worth it, and set it back to stun. There was an immense amount of satisfaction to be found in that single action. Suddenly, the power was hers. She controlled him.

Three-Twelve knew there was nothing to be gained by killing him, though every bit of her wished that she could. All of this anguish could be stopped, he could be stopped, with a single shot right now. She did not, affording him more mercy than he deserved.

"I think that you are confused about my goals. The game isn't over yet."

With that, she spun out and fired a single blast. Four others fired back, three of them connecting.

As she fell to the ground, she used her last bit of strength to see where her shot had landed. The Colonel hit the floor with her, stunned as well.

Yep, she still got him.

"Wait here."

The woman in the MACO uniform plopped the handcuffed Liberated into the chair and made her way back to the only doorway in the room. She was being treated as a prisoner, but everyone knew that wasn't the case. There's no way they were going to let her go after putting over a year of work into her, no matter what she broke or who she stunned.

Three-Twelve looked about the conference area, taking note of the deactivated panels on the walls. The lack of light from them gave the whole room a dim eerie glow, as large swaths of darkness besieged her on all sides. A single light right above the empty chair in front of her provided the only luminescence to found.

She ran her restraints under her feet, so she could at least have her hands in her lap. If she was going to be a prisoner, might as well be comfortable.

The door reopened and a man in a Starfleet uniform entered, his steps slow and soft. He was silhouetted by the light from the open door, and almost disappeared entirely when it closed.

"I heard that you tried to escape last night."

Three-Twelve couldn't fight the smile that crossed her lips.

"I was just testing them. I got quite a bit farther than I thought."

"Now, why would you do a silly thing like that?"

"I enjoy the game. You of all people should know that."

He sat down across from her. His entire figure coming into form as the light bathed him amid the blackness of the room.

"That I should."

He looked and spoke in an artificially calm manner. As usual, he was trying too hard, and she could see right through it. The officer continued, leaning back in his chair and placing one leg over the other.

"I divert my ship to come visit you here and look at you."

"You'd fly to the other end of the galaxy to see me."

"I may stop if you get to be too much trouble."

Three-Twelve stood quickly, rushing to meet him, stopping short of bowling him over in his chair. He did not move, staying in his nonchalant pose as if he was waiting for it.

"Did you expect that to scare me?"

"Usually it does."

"Maybe you've made me tougher."

She shrugged and straddled his legs, forcing him to place both feet flat on the floor. Now she could see him clearly, his blond short hair perfectly in place, a fine officer.

"Well, at least I've had some good influence on you, Commander Jameson."

He wrapped his hands around her waist, scooting her closer. She took the opportunity to give him a light kiss while continuing in a softer tone.

"Wish we could stop meeting like this."

Jameson nodded.

"I wish you'd stop trying your best to ruin the good break you've got going on here."

She smirked and gave him another quick kiss.

"I can't have a little fun? I told them I was going to try to escape, just living up to my word. It's not like they're going to kick me out for this. I'm too important to their little project."

"You've only got the three months to go. Do that, and you're out."

"I'm not leaving. I'm re-enlisting when my time is up."

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, shaking his head slightly.

"But why?"

Three-Twelve placed her head on his shoulder, pushing her arms precariously to one side. His smell hit her and she melted. She was uncomfortable, but perfectly relaxed, the invisible links of armor dropping to the floor.

"Because this is what I'm good at. There's talk of actual war coming. They'll need me."

"_I_ need you."

She readjusted herself in an attempt to accommodate him more, but it didn't work. No position would make either of them more comfortable with this.

"You don't need me. You need to be on that ship. And I'll still be here, where I need to be."

Jameson knew it was pointless to fight further, but he tried one last time. Her tone was softer with him, but she was still just as stubborn as ever under the tender caress.

"You could come with me."

"And do what?"

Jameson placed one of his hands on the back of her head and stroked her hair.

"Whatever you want. I don't want to brag, but I have a big starship, and rumor is that I'm getting a bigger one."

"I know all about your starship."

They both began to laugh, but she interrupted with another kiss.

Jameson pointed around the room the second she released.

"I had my ship scan this room, you know. There's not a single camera in here."

Three-Twelve didn't respond, moving her hands over his head so that the handcuffs rested against the back of his neck. She used the leverage to reign him in, letting her demand rather than request.

He pulled back for a second, producing a device from his pocket.

"I can take those handcuffs off."

Three-Twelve reeled herself in as close as she could get, her lips tapping his with every word. She spoke so softly as to nearly drown her words under their heartbeats.

"Now, why would you do a silly thing like that?"

Three-Twelve slammed into the floor and skidded, the force of the blow pushing her a few centimeters along the ground. She waited for a beat, feigning injury. If she could convince him that she had suffered enough, perhaps he would stop at two punches.

The Colonel kneeled down beside her, stretching his hand.

"Been waiting for that damn Starfleet ship to leave so I could give those to you. Sit."

He picked her up by the collar of her uniform and threw her into the seat in front of his desk. He came in close, staring her straight in the eyes. He hovered there for a few seconds, examining her like a specimen.

"God, no irises. Just dull, gray and soulless."

Three-Twelve nursed her lip as he turned to go back to his seat. She rolled her head back, turning up her nose at him.

"Do you remember me now?"

The Colonel clenched fist back again, but relented, returning to his desk.

She wanted to smile. His hand would be bruised for days, and she could already feel the split flesh in her mouth coming back together.

This was the end of the physical assault, but her punishment wasn't over by any means. There would be worse to come tonight, same as last night, as the Colonel regularly did. She resisted when she could, with what little strength hadn't been drained from her.

But at the end, sometimes he was open to negotiation. It was a brutal price for a small privilege that she did not want.

The Colonel's aide leaned over, talking softly and clutching a few pads to his chest.

"Sir, striking an enlisted soldier is a major offense."

"Striking a machine isn't. I owed her a few. We have an understanding, her and I."

"I believe the Liberated are still considered sentient beings, sir. It is punishable."

"And so is attempted desertion. If they were human, then there wouldn't be a separate MACO division for them. They're less."

Three-Twelve did not respond, though her grip on the armrest had gotten significantly tighter. If she could've gotten away with it, he would be dead where he sat.

He curled his lip.

"Don't know why I've been stuck with the ugly bastards."

The man took a few steps back and looked through the devices in his hands nervously as the Colonel waved him away. He leaned forward on his desk, staring her down as best he could.

"Tomorrow, against my better judgment, we're placing you and your little team of wind-up dolls on active status. Since, at that time, you will have the official rank of Sergent you will be in charge."

He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing, like he was delivering bad news.

"I've tried to convince Command that this is a terrible idea, but apparently you've got some kind of deal with them. So, tomorrow, you'll be connected to the rest of your squad."

The Colonel reached out his hand to the aide who placed a pad in it. After a brief moment of reading he continued.

"You'll have three under your command, some of which you already know. Your team will be on standby until you receive your first mission."

He tossed the pad at her. She slowly reached out and plucked from the edge of his desk when she was sure there would be no retaliation.

The Colonel continued once she had the device in her hand.

"As you can see, I have kept up my side of the agreement, and I expect you to keep yours. But be warned: If you so much as flinch wrong, my weapon will not be set to stun. Are we clear?"

Three-Twelve nodded.

"Yes."

"Good, report to Medical tomorrow morning at 0600 hours. Now, get the hell out."

He didn't take his eyes off of her, throwing a threatening gaze until she disappeared out the door.

Taking the hallways back to the barracks, she looked over the information on the pad. It was not the best group of soldiers if she had been given a choice, but at least they were all Reinforced, save one. She would not have to babysit much.

The door to the shared room slid open and she walked into the room containing the eight other Liberated she shared it with. Seventeen approached her, motioning to the device in her hand.

"You are being activated?"

"Yes, and you are too. I have requested that you be assigned to my team."

"I am aware. I requested it as well."

Three-Twelve stopped short.

"For what purpose?"

"There are few Medicament Drones available. I had to verify that one was at your disposal."

She turned back to her pad, selecting items and moving on to the next page.

"Clarify."

"Based on the last two months I have come to the conclusion that you would be the best Prime to serve under."

"Squad Leader is the appropriate term. You are aware of Sigma's rules regarding the use of Borg designations."

Seventeen turned and began to walk away.

"I am. However, you will make a very good Prime, Three-Twelve."

She did not look up from the pad.

"Let us hope so."

"I do not believe that hope has much to do with it. However..."

Three-Twelve looked up at him as he pivoted halfway back.

"Yes?"

"However, I am surprised that my re-assignment went through. I did not think that my wishes had any bearing on the situation."

She curled up on the small bed, in a fetal position, gripping one arm around her waist while the other held the pad in front of her face. Her eyes danced over it, but it was clear to Seventeen that she was merely acting as though she was reading.

"The Colonel is more fond of certain Liberated than he lets on. I made arrangements to get the squad I wanted."

The way she tensed when saying the word 'fond' caused him to doubt her sincerity, but he did not want to pressure her. It did not seem that it was something she wished to discuss.

"I understand."

Seventeen turned hesitantly. Upon reconsideration, he decided that it was best to let it lie and left the room.

The doctor spun the device in his hand and placed it on Three-Twelve's neck, releasing the drug into her system with a hiss. He then approached Seventeen, injected him and returned to his tray of utensils to grab a small plier-looking tool.

"Okay, now I'm going to pull the inhibitor off and you tell me if you feel anything different."

"Understood," Three-Twelve responded flatly.

He reached over her shoulder from the front, carefully removing some piece of equipment there. When the doctor pulled back, the tool had a small device with spidery metal legs in its grip. Widening his eyes expectantly, he focused on hers.

"Anything?"

Three-Twelve shook her head.

"I am unable to detect any change. Perhaps if I knew what to expect."

The doctor moved to Seventeen and did the same, taking off the small device and placing it in the tray with the other.

"MACO units have a short range transmitter/receiver built into their helmets. Allows for low-volume intra-squad communication. We've found that the Liberated usually have a similar system still intact from their time in the Collective."

He picked up a tricorder and moved back to Three-Twelve. He pointed it at her neck while he typed.

"And since some of you can't or won't wear your helmet regularly, it's actually better to turn this device on, in a limited capacity of course."

"We will be linked?" Three-Twelve said, jumping in on the end of his sentence.

The doctor turned to Seventeen and again repeated the same process as on Three-Twelve, stepping back when he had finished. He took his time before answering her question.

"Of sorts. It's much lower power, and on a Starfleet frequency. Most importantly, though, you'll only share what you want to share. Don't want you to lose your individuality, but might as well use the technology if you're going to be lugging it about anyway, right?"

"That seems most efficient."

He put the tricorder down on the tray and looked back and forth between the two.

"That's what you guys normally say. So, anything?"

Seventeen shrugged and looked to Three-Twelve. She shrugged as well.

"I do not-"

It hit her like a tidal wave, washing over her, drowning her in every sound conceivable. She could hear heartbeats, thumping like pistons, electricity humming through the walls. Voices that were rooms away became louder until they were booming thunders. The spaces between their words were chasms that only served to make the voices louder when they returned.

Three-Twelve fell to the floor covering her ears, but it did no good. The sounds roared on, rumbling through and amplifying each other. One by one they came to the forefront and were quickly dominated by any of the plethora of other sounds that came on their heels.

She opened her eyes to see the doctor, on his knees, talking to her. His lips were moving, but the words were submerged in the morass of the others. Flailing wildly in her own head she reached out to snare his voice, and she caught it in pieces.

"...focus on... sound... takes a few minutes... adjust..."

Gathering herself, Three-Twelve pushed towards his voice while pulling it towards her. Behind him, she could see Seventeen looking about the room, confused, as though he was lost. His eyes darted around, uncoordinated with his jerky neck movements.

As the sounds began to recede, the doctor's voice was clearer. He was asking her a question.

"Are things becoming better, Three-Twelve? Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He grabbed her by the shoulder and helped her to her feet. She gave a quick glance to Seventeen, who appeared to be coming out of it as well. His movements were smoother, but he still had the look of someone who was in an unfamiliar place.

The doctor grabbed his tricorder and did a quick scan over both of them.

"Okay, that was the easy one. It gets harder with the third and fourth connections. Processing three new inputs is difficult all at once, but there's no other way."

Three-Twelve still had one finger to her ear as she slowly began reassert her control.

"What just happened?"

"You two were connected. You can share information now, if you want. It's uncontrolled at first, but you'll get the hang of it pretty quickly. Probably like riding a bike. A Borg bike."

He chuckled at his own joke.

"So, here in a few minutes, when you're comfortable with it we'll bring in your next team member, and do the whole thing over again."

"What can we do?"

"Silent communication mostly. Go ahead, give it a try."

Three-Twelve turned to Seventeen.

_You hear me?_

He nodded in response.

The doctor pointed to Seventeen.

"See? And not only that, but you can share data in real-time. I'm guessing that you, Three-Twelve, were getting audio information from that thing on his ear, and he was getting all kinds of visual data from your ocular implants."

"I will find this useful."

"Unfortunately, still capped to only work over a very short range, and we can't do more than four in a grouping. But yes, it is. It's what spurred the whole Sigma project into existence to begin with. Now, we need to get the next one, Eight I believe."

As he moved towards the door to retrieve her next team member, Three-Twelve looked at Seventeen. His voice ran behind hers, a soft hum reverberating over all of the other sounds he gave her. And, in turn, Three-Twelve gave what she had. It was a perfect symphony of two, and soon to be more.

From this orchestra the strings became a sharp wire weaving its way though her, tearing her mind apart and reforming as she became the sum of two, rather than the equation of one. These pinpricks had been felt before, though she had been unable to locate them, and thus left it all to languish. The metal point latched into the center of her being, fed her and simultaneously drew her towards hunger.

She had been given a meager single helping, that would soon be two and three, but this would not be enough. The monster had been awoken and it yearned for something beyond herself, beyond all of them.

At first, it had no identity, a vague starvation that had been suppressed for so long as to be forgotten. She searched for it, dug for it, pleaded with it to reveal itself. It obliged.

The gluttony turned to her, twisting through every muscle in her body. It filled her with power, but that was not its intent. The power was paltry and would always remain so, throwing scraps to the hunger that ached in every extremity.

The monster warped its form to her, and she to it until the two were the same. It was not strength that it wanted. It was not glory, or fame or fortune that it craved. It was but for want of a single, unobtainable goal that it grew teeth.

It salivated only for perfection.

Hitting the ground at a dead run, Three-Twelve rebalanced herself after the landing. Her entire team had been dropped out at least five kilometers from the objective. It'd taken them a little under twenty minutes to cross the distance, putting the whole operation ahead by about fifteen.

Command had scheduled them like they were a bunch of slow human MACOs, plodding along at Organic speeds. She was almost insulted.

The target lay but a few hundred meters in front of them, a short, hastily walled-in tower. The outside would have been tall enough to require a repel of some sort, if it were some lesser species. With the incline leading up to it, though, her Sigma team would have no problem simply leaping over the outside.

Eight and Seventeen split off from her, both taking opposite sides of the structure. They curved hard out and then back in to line themselves up at nearly a perfect forty-five degree angle to the tower. Three-Twelve slowed down until they were all at about equal distances. Then, as they'd done a thousand times in a hundred different simulations, they sped forward and jumped.

The Klingon she met mid-leap, standing near the top of the wall, was just as surprised as her. Unable to properly aim her weapon, Three-Twelve simply pulled it out of the holster and backhanded him with it.

The force of the blow sent him off his feet, and backwards with her. Using her free hand, she grabbed the sash across his chest and rode him to the ground, his body cushioning her fall with a crunch.

Rolling off the body, she slammed shoulder-first into a nearby crate. Her pistol powered up with a whine and then beeped when it entered ready status. The fire spun overhead as the Klingon Warrior's companions wasted no time in responding to the intrusion.

Neither did hers. Seventeen came in contact with the ground, weapon out and spewing. He was never a good shot, but with his rifle of choice, he didn't need to be. He had flanked them well, firing into the backs of the crowd.

Eight spun out and fired from the other side of the tower, decloaking as she did, her body folding back into reality. The drone's pistols added to the already intense barrage of Seventeen's, killing several of the Warriors and throwing the rest into disarray.

Three-Twelve pressed her back to the crates she was hiding behind and faced the wall.

_Twenty. Now._

A small drone popped over the wall that she had just come from, carrying a black satchel in his arms like it was a child. When he passed her they continued forward, crouched, towards the tower in the center of the fortifications.

They took up positions on each side of the door when they reached it. Twenty looked over the entryway with the goggle-like implants that served as his eyes. Overlapping his vision with her own, she could see three inside, two on the right and one on the left. Three-Twelve nodded, hit the panel and slid in firing.

She took out two before they could draw their weapons, but the third was faster. He pulled his gun and pointed it at her just as Twenty entered and pulled his weapon as well. They were in a standoff, the large Klingon moving his weapon back and forth between the two.

Three-Twelve dropped her weapon, and pulled out a knife on her belt. She motioned for Twenty to do the same.

"Surely you'd rather make your kill with a blade."

The Warrior smiled and pulled out his own, giving her a large toothy grin.

"I would."

The large Klingon lunged at her. He was tossing heavy, strong attacks, but they lacked focus and finesse. She took a few steps to her side, dodging each blow as if it was a rehearsed dance.

After a few misguided swipes, he stabbed a little too hard and threw himself off-balance. She saw her chance. Three-Twelve took his hand, and thrust the Warrior's own blade into his neck. He staggered back, eyes wide, mouthing words she could not hear.

She moved towards him, pulled out the knife, and stuck it into his chest. As he fell over, Three-Twelve gestured to Twenty to get started. Picking up her weapon, she took a moment to verify that the breathing had stopped.

"Honor. Worthless."

He placed the large device on the center console and pressed a series of buttons on it. It popped open and slowly wrapped a bundle of tendrils around the computer.

Twenty nodded as he headed back to the door and retrieved his weapon.

C_aptured the listening post._

Eight entered the room, nodding at Twenty as she approached Three-Twelve.

_Courtyard is clear. Already called for transport._

_Good._

The three proceeded outside just as the armored transport approached. It was a Sigma vessel, complete with the logo followed by a black six. It landed in the open courtyard, crushing a Klingon body that had fallen there. The man inside, a human, waved while yelling over the whining engines.

"First successful mission of Sigma-Six! Congratulations!"

Three-Twelve ignored him, laying down in the set of alcoves that came out of the side of the ship. Her squad followed suit, taking their spots in the adjacent bays. The rack retracted into the transport as it lifted off of the ground, encasing them in the dark.

She closed her eyes, and slept with the company of her kind.

Three-Twelve vomited for a second time, her stomach squeezing out nothing as it painfully contracted of its own volition. She had cut her hair since being deployed, but it was still long enough that she needed to hold it with both hands to avoid soiling the large clumps of black that fell in front of her face. This left her with little ability to remain balanced as she lurched forward into the bowl.

Two was usually par for the day, but sometimes a third one would sneak up for a surprise. Afterwards, she would lay with her back to the stall door while regaining her focus. She'd never been sick before. In fact, she didn't even believe she was able.

A knock on the door startled her back from the momentary relaxation.

"Three-Twelve?" came a cautious, quiet voice from the other side of the stall.

It was Seventy-one, a tall but sheepish female from one of the other squads. The woman was originally named Seventeen, but they already had a drone of that designation. It was decided that in order to reduce confusion, she could either pick a human name, or transpose the digits. She chose the latter.

"Yes."

"Are you ill?"

"No."

"Oh, okay. I, um..."

She stuttered around a few sentences before picking one.

"...I uh..."

When Three-Twelve had first met her, it seemed that Seventy-one was not fully adapted to verbal communication. She learned later that the drone was simply shy, and was constantly second-guessing herself. Three-Twelve was glad the female was not in her squad. Someone with such a weakness would break the squad.

Three-Twelve threw the door open as she stood, taking her usual combative stance.

"Speak."

Seventy-one closed her eyes as she forced the words out, all of them running together.

"I'm supposed to tell you that there will be a meeting in the main conference room will start in about five minutes about our next set of missions."

The female tore out of the room, not giving Three-Twelve time to reply. 'Skiddish' was the word that Eight had used. It was appropriate.

She took a minute to wash her mouth out and check herself in the mirror. Once satisfied that her hair was clean, she moved out in to the hallway to the conference room.

The meeting area was packed, all six squads lined up on the rows of benches that sat before the raised platform serving as the stage. The Colonel walked back and forth in front of a few highly-decorated individuals sitting importantly near the back. Whatever this was, it was big.

Three-Twelve took an open spot with the rest of her squad, sitting next to Eight just as the Colonel started.

"Alright, as you've noticed, we've been fighting a lot of Klingons lately."

He pointed to the screen behind him as it switched over to a star map showing the locations of different engagements over the past months. Sigma Six's two victories stood on their own off to the side, important, but ancillary goals achieved.

"Starfleet has suspected that Klingon advancement was directed towards a new technological project being tested in the area. One that will be nearing completion in a year."

He flipped to the next set of images, showing a straight line of troop movement through the region.

"Thanks to a new Intelligence-gathering system currently underway, HERMES, we have learned that this is indeed accurate. They are intending to attack this target."

The Colonel slid the screen to a moving image of a very large device being constructed in space. The final product looked to be a hexagon of some sort, but only two sides of it were completed. It was Federation technology, but something about it looked positively Borg.

"Sigma's job will be to engage and stop the Klingon advance. Failing that, we will attempt to slow them until a proper fleet can be assembled."

He moved to the side looking for any sign of confusion from the crowed. Finding none, he mumbled something to himself and continued.

"Your secondary objectives are to capture as many ships and personnel as possible. Dispite appearances, this isn't a war, yet."

The Colonel pointed to one of the officers on the stage wearing a Starfleet uniform.

"Each of the Sigma squads will be accompanied by several of the smaller, more maneuverable Starfleet vessels. They will focus on dropping shields and providing cover for the OBVs."

Three-Twelve leaned over towards Twenty as the screen flickered back to the gigantic hexagonal piece of equipment hanging in space.

"Is that what it looks like?"

He acknowledged her without looking away from the image.

"It is."


	4. Chapter 4: Frigate

_Sometimes it's worse to win a fight, than to lose one._

~Billie Holiday

_**-4-**_

_Frigate_

"A Transwarp gate?"

The Lieutenant leaned in with Melissa, carefully studying the schematics that broke apart and reformed on the screen. The hexagonal shape was unmistakable, though the Federation's version was decidedly more sleek.

Four Fifty-one moved the two layouts next to each other, showing the complete Borg-built gate next to the nearly finished one they were guarding. The former looked dark and foreboding, the green hue pulsing in rhythm. She traced her finger around its edge.

"These gates act in pairs, allowing instantaneous transfer through a transwarp network to another location with a similar conduit."

Darren crossed his arms and pulled back, keeping his gaze steady on the mounds of technical data spilling out along the sides.

"So, what does this tell us?"

"Unfortunately, very little. The most prominent question is 'where is its twin?'"

"Twin?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and navigated through a couple of menus with a few quick taps. She stopped on a map of some kind that resembled a broken spider's web. Several sections of it appeared to be missing.

"These networks are created as groups of sister gates. They can connect to other pairs, but they maintain a link to a another conduit somewhere."

She slid her gloved fingers across the page, indicating a set of algorithms that seemed to be randomly rearranging themselves. They changed in unison, almost like the beat to a song.

"The Borg use a set of extremely complex security keys that guard the network. It is unlikely that Starfleet has broken all of these algorithms, but it is possible they've broken one."

"Which one?" Melissa chimed in, excitedly.

Four Fifty-one pointed back to the screen of flowing equations.

"Due to the convoluted nature of the design, I would imagine that even they do not know."

The Lieutenant stuck out his hand and swiped back to the schematics screen.

"So we're here to fight whatever comes out of this gate. Probably Borg."

"Not likely."

She moved to another page and brought up an outside image of the still-growing collection of starships.

"We are facing away from the gate. Starfleet is more interested in whatever is coming from the other direction."

"The missing ships."

"Possibly related."

Melissa opened her mouth but a booming voice from the intercom interrupted her before she could speak.

"Senior staff meeting in the conference room. Tac- Four Fifty-one please be in attendance."

He looked to the visibly surprised Lieutenant-Commander.

"You're being summoned to a senior staff meeting."

"It appears so."

The Ensign's brow furrowed as she quickly looked back and forth between the two.

"I thought she was a Senior staff member?"

Four Fifty-one nodded to her and then promptly turned to the door.

"I am, but only in title."

"It must be bad," Darren mumbled to himself.

"But she's-"

He patted the Ensign on the shoulder.

"When you're older."

When Four Fifty-one had left, Melissa turned to the Lieutenant.

"Why do they call her Tack?"

He paused for a moment, fingers hovering over the pad.

"Short version? Someone said that she was as sharp as a tack."

She crossed her arms and looked at him with her head cocked to one side.

"Oh come on, now. There's more to it than that. I've heard people call the Liberated all kinds of names: Whiteheads, bogs, robots. I've never seen one get so upset with a nickname."

He nodded and returned to typing.

"Commander Akuji said she was as pretty as one, too. Then it kind of stuck."

"Wow. But why? Isn't the Federation supposed to be all about inclusiveness?"

Darren took in a deep breath and let it out.

"Even the forests of Utopia has snakes."

"That was pretty eloquent, Mr. Engineer."

"My minor at the Academy was literature."

Melissa uncrossed her arms and leaned on the console in front of her, placing one hand under her chin.

"Literature and Starship Engineering. That's an odd combination."

"I think you just described everyone worth knowing, Ensign Raleigh."

Four Fifty-one took the chair farthest from the Captain's. She assumed that it would be easier on everyone else if she faded into the wallpaper as much as possible.

While it was clear that no one wanted her here, she had no qualms about speaking if she found need to do so. One of the benefits of being a pariah was that there wasn't much further to fall.

The rest of the main bridge crew entered, giving her a quick glance before taking their places, all leaving at least a chair between her and them. The only person to acknowledge her directly was the Chief Engineer, who managed to get out a slight head shake before returning to his state of disinterest. She pretended not to notice, staring blankly at the pad in her hand.

After the other five entered, the Captain strode in, stopping only when he reached the viewscreen at the far end of the conference room. He made a brief nod towards the a few officers before focusing his attention on the sliding menus he was venturing through. The screen spun over to a star map with a red arrow proceeding down it towards their current position.

He turned back towards the group, starting suddenly.

"Four months ago, the Klingon Empire captured one of our science vessels."

The screen dissolved to show a Horizon-class starship moving over the top of an astrometric chart. It paused for a few seconds at each of the small nebulae before moving on to the next.

"As far as we know the crew has been killed and the ship destroyed. However, that is not what has Starfleet concerned."

He tapped the edge of the image to show a list of coordinates ordered by date visited in the lower corner.

"The vessel's last position before going to scan these nebulae was our current location. It had acquired basic schematics of the conduit before moving on to its assignment. With this limited information, the Klingons have surmised that we are building this transwarp gate to move troops into their space quickly."

The doctor leaned forward onto the table, placing him at odds with the others who sat back relaxed in their chairs.

"Are we?"

Four Fifty-one answered before the Captain could.

"No. We would have to build a sister gate in Klingon territory and then link the two. It would be impractical."

The Captain pointed at her briefly before turning back to the screen.

"T- Four Fifty-one is correct. The gate is linked to a Borg conduit of the same type."

Akuji fired back this time.

"Where?"

The Captain shrugged.

"We don't know. Somewhere in Borg space. The hope is that what used to take months of warp and slipstream travel will be reduced to a few minutes."

"Wait, so we're just going to turn this on and _hope_ that Cubes don't come spilling out of it?"

"The gate is not yet complete. The task of the assembled fleet is to make sure we get to find out at some later date."

Akuji grunted and slid back into his seat.

"Sounds like we're saving ourselves from being beat up by the Klingons so we can get beat up by the Borg."

The Captain tapped the image once more to reveal a diagram depicting a group of small Federation frigate-type vessels moving under a much larger Klingon Battleship and firing. They were joined by a long, nearly brick-shaped ship that fired something up into the larger vessel's underbelly. At that point the demonstration reset and began repeating itself.

"Starfleet believes that we can salvage our relationship with the Klingons by capturing their ships and using them and their crews as leverage. Despite their recent incursions over the past few months, it does not appear that they want a war either, yet."

He traced his finger along the path of the oncoming Starfleet ships, stopping at the point where the vessels started firing.

"We will be joined by a special division of MACO that have been capturing these ships. The strategy is to come up underneath the fleet's flagship, using our phasers in a wide burst to weaken the shields. When they are sufficiently depleted, the MACO ship will launch OBVs and hopefully take the ship."

The Engineer raised his hand and quickly put it back down, as if he were in class.

"Why are we prepping the ship for the One-way Boarding Vessels? Wouldn't a larger, more powerful ship be better? Or even a fleet of escorts?"

"Frigates going in underneath where there are the least number of weapons is considered the best strategy. The bigger cruisers are too slow to maneuver properly, and the escorts are considered too valuable to spare."

"We're fodder," Ajuki grumbled.

The Captain ignored him, pointing back to the screen. He slid the diagram off, leaving only the dim visage of the Federation wreath and stars on the black screen. It reflected the ships gathering for war outside, melding to look as though the logo incorporated both.

"I want all of you on the bridge."

Four Fifty-one jerked forward, but stopped before she gave herself away.

He pointed at her.

"Except for you, Four Fifty-one. I need you co-ordinating our sparse security teams in the event they try to board us."

She relaxed imperceptibly back into her seat.

"Of course."

"And I'll need to have you work with Engineering on increasing our fore phaser and shield arrays."

"I have already been working on such a project with the Gamma shift lead, Lieutenant Darren. We have also been looking at ways to improve our security team's effectiveness in the event we are boarded."

He looked around the room for a moment.

"Good. Dismissed."

Four Fifty-one stood and made her way out of the room well ahead of the others. Her fist was clenched to her side, fingernails tearing through her gloves. The skin underneath gave way and she could feel the blood soaking into the fabric.

After a minute or so, when the pain in her palm had consumed everything else, she released her grip, adjusted her uniform, and carried on.

The assembled group of fourteen officers, herself included, was the sum total of the entire security force aboard the Avarayr. A few of them had been on this ship since they left the Academy, and never fired a weapon outside of a training range.

The asymmetrical nature of any engagement aboard this ship meant that she needed to rely almost exclusively on the only two advantages they had: preparation time and territorial knowledge.

Four Fifty-one raised her hand to get their attention, and then lowered it when they quieted.

"As you know, we will be heading into an engagement with the Klingons shortly. Our job, as security, is to repel any attackers attempting to take the ship."

Skipping over the rifle and the triangle device on the table beside her, she picked up her pad and began to scroll through it.

"As indicated on the information I gave you earlier, we will be broken up into three teams protecting the three most important areas."

She gestured to the groups starting with the one on her left.

"Alpha will be near the Bridge, Beta will be near Deflector Control, and Gamma will be with me in Engineering."

Dropping the pad, she picked up the small triangle-shaped device and presented it to them.

"Engineering has created one of these for each rifle. You can find it on the stock. Take it off, place it on a nearby wall, and face your weapon towards it on its stand."

Four Fifty-one threw it to the nearest officer, who caught it, turned it over and passed it on.

"Set the weapon to the proper mode and don't step in front of it. Anything that breaks the line-of-sight between the device and the rifle will cause it to fire."

"So it's like a turret?"  
The man she'd passed the device to earlier looked at her quizzically. She nodded at him.

"Yes, resources and time allowed for little else more complex. The weapon will only fire in a narrow conical area directly in front of it, and is easily disabled. However, it will slow down anyone attempting to follow you should you need to retreat."

A woman near the edge of the group slid the device onto the table. Four Fifty-one took it and placed it back on the stock of the rifle.

"If there are no questions, obtain your weapon from your assigned armory and report to your designated area."

The group started to disband, moving out the doors in sets of four and five. They were all uncomfortably calm, like this was just a training mission of some kind. Four Fifty-one hoped they were simply trying to act tough, and were not complacent. There were precious few of them. She didn't need any officer breaking down in the first few minutes.

Melissa hopped up on the stage and stopped beside her, both arms wrapped around a large rifle.

"So, I'm with you in Engineering."

"That is accurate."

"Did you do that on purpose?"  
Four Fifty-one picked up the weapon from the table.

"Yes. I wanted to keep the least experienced officers with me."

The Ensign frowned.

"Aw, and here I was thinking you liked having me around."  
"That would be irresponsible."

Four Fifty-one spun her hand in the air like she was rounding up cattle. The three others fell in step as she led the team into the hall.

"I can put you on the bridge team, Alpha, if you'd prefer."

Melissa shook her head.

"Nah, I have a feeling it's going to be safer with you."

Melissa grabbed the edge of the wall that separated the two corridors while the vessel shook. She looked over to see Four Fifty-one doing the same, but with one hand gripping their teammate who was not so quick. Everything they did was in short snippets, like a slideshow, as the red-alert lights flashed around the failing light.

"They're really hitting us hard, aren't they?"

The Lieutenant-Commander let go of the officer, Gonzales, once he found his own hand-hold and turned to respond to the Ensign.

"No. If that battleship was focusing on us, we would not be having this conversation."

Four Fifty-one reached down to grab the rifle she had dropped earlier and made her way to the other side of the hall. She tapped on the console on the wall, bringing up a schematic of the ship. Their fore shields had buckled, and the port side wasn't far behind. The Klingon ship appeared to be in a similar position, only with its underside being pelted by MACO OBVs.

"We could be having beam-ins any-"

She was interrupted by conformation of her prediction. Three Klingon Warriors appeared directly in front of her in a shimmer of red light. Before they could move, she fired, point-blank at the one on the left, and in the same move, hit the the Klingon on the right with the butt of her gun.

Four Fifty-one attempted to follow this with a straight kick to the middle Warrior, directly in front of her, but he was too fast. He knocked her leg out of the way and pulled up his weapon.

A single shot connected with Four Fifty-one's chest, sizzling as it grew green tentacles and wrapped them around her in a flash. The force pushed her back to the wall and to her knees, the emerald light show dissipating as well.

He did not get in a second one. Melissa fired into his back and sent him tumbling off to one side. Ensign Gonzales dropped a phaser blast into the Klingon on the floor, who was still clutching his bloody face.

Giving a brief sign of approval to both of them, Four Fifty-one stood while she took deep breaths like she'd been punched in the gut. Melissa ran up to her and placed an outstretched hand on the spot where the shot had landed. The fabric of her uniform was not even torn.

"Are you-are you okay?"

The Lieutenant-Commander slid her rifle strap back over her arm.

"Yes. Personal shield implant absorbed the disrupter."

"That's a neat trick. Wish I could do it."

"I only get to do it once."

"Still..."

Four Fifty-one turned and made her way around the corner, tapping the communicator on her chest.

"Ensign Marik, report."  
"Nothing here. Engineering still quiet."

Four Fifty-one popped the triangle-shaped device off of the gun's stock and placed it on the wall. She gestured for the others to do the same and took up a position about halfway down the hallway.

"Alpha, Beta teams report."

"Alpha here. We lost one, but it's clear now."

"This is Beta, nothing here."

Melissa shifted towards Four Fifty-one as they kneeled down in the indentions near the doors.

"What now?"

"Hopefully, they will send more boarding parties."  
"Hopefully?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and shifted the Mark IV rifle in her hands uncomfortably. She did not like the weight of this weapon, but her preferred gun was not equipped with the proper modifications.

"If the Klingons are sending over boarding parties, then it is unlikely they will be firing on the ship."

"Oh. Good thinking."

"Incoming!" Gonzales yelled out before either of the other two had noticed the familiar red illumination of the Klingon transporters.

Melissa was the first to fire, taking out one the instant he appeared. Four Fifty-one took her shots as well, waiting until the other two had fired to keep the pressure on. She would need to revisit proper suppressive strategies when they got the chance. It was hard to complain, though; the two Ensigns were about as calm and collected as she could ask.

The Klingons were advancing on their position, as more came in from some other spot farther down the hall. It was time to see if Lieutenant Darren's turret contraptions were even worth the energy required to replicate them.

"Stands out! Pull back!"

All three set up the tripods in unison, aiming roughly towards their respective sensor and setting them to turret mode. Four Fifty-one pointed back towards Engineering, taking off in a hurried crouch.

"Alpha, report," she yelled as she hit her combadge.

The sounds of battle could be heard nearly drowning the officer's panicked voice.

"We're still here. Already fell back. There's got to be at least, I don't know, twenty."

"Keep them occupied."

"Aye."

She stopped at the door to Engineering, typing in her code on the wall panel. The sounds of the turrets could be heard firing wildly behind them.

"Beta, report."

The door slid open and they were greeted by a few Engineers, Darren included, with phasers in hand. Moving in, she hit the door lock and pointed to the weapon locker on the wall.

"Beta, report."

She grimaced and walked in the direction of the locker. There was nothing to be done for them now.

Melissa ran over to it, reared back and gave the button a solid punch. It swung down, the shelf folding open to reveal the weapons stored inside. Gonzales procured a few grenades, putting them on his belt.

Four Fifty-one moved to the opposite end, locating her weapon of choice.

"I see you found the strength to open the locker."

The Ensign shakily grabbed three rifles, throwing one to the two others on her team, and keeping one for herself.

"Yeah, you know, adrenaline."

"You are doing well."

Four Fifty-one took a sniper rifle and popped the scope off, dropping it to the ground.

Melissa gave a quick smile as she turned away.

"I knew it."

The Ensigns took their places behind various consoles and a few temporary barricades they had set up. Four Fifty-one moved to the console across from Darren. His fingers were fidgeting with his hand-held phaser.

"Lieutenant, are you in charge down here?"

He nodded.

"Yes. Chief Engineer is on the bri-"

An explosion sent shrapnel over their heads, and was quickly followed by smoke and Klingon disrupter fire. A few grenades came next, detonating near the door.

Four Fifty-one waited a few seconds, and then yelled "NOW!"

All of the gathered officers popped over the top of their cover and began to fire at the door with her. Though she could not see the enterance through the smoke, her Imager laid a 3D outline over the area. The blasts that hit gave a brief flash when they came in contact with their target, while the ones that missed did not, presumably striking some wall down the corridor.

Her shots were chorused by beeping on a console beside Darren. She ducked down, waiting for her rifle to recharge.

"What is that?"

He peeked up, placing a hand flatly on the panel as he pressed buttons. After a few seconds, he dropped back to answer her question.

"The MACO unit is sending out a distress signal. Apparently they're not doing so well capturing that ship."

The instant that he completed his sentence, Four Fifty-one felt herself lifted into the air and thrown back to the ground. The sound of scattering debris could be heard bouncing around the room, accompanied by the moans of the officers who'd been tossed as well.

She wheezed as she pulled herself up on all fours, trying to catch her breath in the flickering light.

"What... what was that?"

She looked over towards Darren, but could not see him. The entire room had gone black, the faint light from the distant warp-core and a few rebooting panels provided little relief.

The Lieutenant's voice was gruff and labored, though it sounded little worse for wear.

"I don't know. Let me, let me check."

He hit the console to his side a few times with his fist before it begrudgingly powered up. After a few seconds working with it, he flopped himself back to the floor.

"We hit something."

"How?"  
"Don't know, but it scraped off the top of the saucer section. It looks like the battleship above us started to dive down and we didn't move out of the way fast enough."

Darren reached up and pressed a button on the panel, which turned the screen to an outside view of the Avarayr.

The top of the disc that made up the saucer was flat, instead of its normal beveled shape, torn off at a crooked front-to-back fashion. The corridors that made up the ship's insides were plainly visible, punctuated by electrical arcs and sputtering lights.

Melissa yelled from somewhere in the dark.

"I've got a question; Where'd the Klingons go?"

She was right. Beyond the collection of dead bodies lying at the entrance, there were no more to be found. There was also no weapon fire coming at them through the torn door.

Four Fifty-one stood as everything began to power up around them. Marik's body could be seen in the far corner, apparently taken out by one of the grenades. The rest of the crew appeared to be alive, though some were in bad shape.

"Bridge."

The Computer chimed back almost instantly.

"The Bridge is unreachable by standard communication channels."

Four Fifty-one took in and let out a deep breath, steeling herself for the answer.

"Who is the senior officer on board the Avarayr?"

"The most senior officer on board is Lieutenant-Commander Four Fifty-one."

"Ship didn't want me, and now I'm in charge of it."

Darren used the console as a crutch, lifting himself back to his station and giving a few quick keystrokes. He was favoring one arm, leaning on the elbow.

"Not for long. I've got slow leaks everywhere. We've got a few minutes, but Warp Core containment is eventually going to fail. I'm going to have to eject it."

"Now we know where the Klingons went."

Four Fifty-one picked her rifle up off of the ground and tucked it under her arm.

"All hands, this is..."

She paused for a second before continuing, as though it was a question.

"...your Captain. Abandon ship. Repeat: Abandon ship."

Turning back towards Darren, she pointed towards the picture of the Klingon battleship still firing, even in its heavily damaged form. It was moving away from them as quickly as it could.

"Can we beam over three?"

"Yeah, I suppose. If you wanted."

Four Fifty-one motioned to Melissa and Gonzales, taking a tricorder out of a nearby bay.

"You two are with me. We're going to answer that distress call."

Gonzales shook his head.

"We're going over there? That's suicide."

"Protocol dictates that we respond to the distress call with any forces we have available."

"We can't do that!"  
"This is not a request, Ensign."

He huffed and begrudgingly joined them, standing behind Melissa.

Darren hit a few buttons on the pad and nodded at Four Fifty-one.

"Ready."

"Get to an escape pod as soon as you transport us."

"Believe me, I have no intention of staying around here for a second longer than I have to, Captain."

Four Fifty-one forgot herself for a moment and cracked a smile at him.

"Energize."

They materialized from transport on a ship in not much better shape than the one they had come from. Bodies lined the immediate corridor, a testament to the boarding party's initial success. The red, smoky interior of the vessel was punctuated only with splatters of purple blood that had started to dry and flake off the walls.

From the direction of phaser burns on the walls and the position of the Klingons, Four Fifty-one surmised the direction they had taken in capturing the ship. She moved with her group along this path, leapfrogging past each other as silently as they could.

One thing was certain though, this MACO unit was good. They must have stepped over scores of bodies on their short path, but came across not a single felled Federation officer. They were nothing if not efficient.

The path of dead Klingons ended at a large double-sided door with more than one burn mark marring its surface. A panel on the side of the door blinked a soft red in the shape of a hand.

Four Fifty-one grabbed one of the hands of a nearby Warrior and held it over the pad, waiting for the two Ensigns to get into position. Once they were, she placed the fingers into the grooves and the door popped open.

Melissa moved in first, sliding through the door and around the side behind a short wall that was covered in dark blood and charred streaks.

"Clear! Kinda."

Gonzales and Four Fifty-one moved in behind her, taking up position on the opposite side. She leaned out and took a look around the room. It was covered in dead MACO officers, all still in uniform, most still with weapons in hand and separated into their squads.

Gonzales grabbed the shoulder of one of the soldiers, and pulled the patch closer to his face. He examined it closely, like it was written in some foreign language.

The patch was the standard MACO triangle, with the words 'Military Assault Command Operations – Sigma' written around the edge. The logo in the center contained a white face, the left eye covered in a round device with a red center.

"MACO Sigma? That's new."

Four Fifty-one rolled a MACO soldier over onto his back. The device on the side of his head and pale white skin led to only one conclusion.

"Liberated, organized into Clutches."

The Ensign turned over a body with his foot. There had to be nearly twenty drones here.

"Clutches?"

"A grouping of connected drones, usually with the same suffix number."

"Never heard of that."

"It's not Starfleet terminology."

She moved slowly to the opposite end of the cover they were hiding behind, being careful not to disturb the bodies.

"They were caught by surprise. Most of these were cut down where they stood."

Melissa hoisted herself up with a nearby railing, giving her a clear view of the room. The majority of the weapons fire was directed towards the door they had come through. The Federation soldiers had barely gotten but a few shots against the far wall.

Many of the scorch marks appeared to be concentrated in each of the corners and directly at the center wall. In all four of these corners, a broken, burned device hung. It was impossible to tell what they were prior to the firefight.

Four Fifty-one stood and walked to the center of the room, examining the walls and the adjacent door. She pulled out her tricorder and started to scan.

"The bridge is on the other side of here. There's seven occupants, three in critical condition."

The door they had come from clunked, startling Melissa. A voice boomed over the intercom.

"GHOBE' KLINGON"

Out of the ceiling over Four Fifty-one a compartment spun open, revealing two disrupter turrets spinning up with a whir.

She tore back towards cover just as it began to fire. A shot caught her in the arm, and another grazed between the shoulder blades. Hitting the ground in a half-tumble, she slid to the wall, but stopped herself with the butt of her gun before coming into contact with it.

Melissa rolled over to her, having ducked behind the same cover herself.

"You okay?"

Four Fifty-one lifted herself up on her good arm, and once on her knees used her rifle to point towards the half-torn apart panel next to the entrance.

"I'm fine. It will repair shortly. I need you to keep that weapon's attention while I try to finish whatever was started by the previous user of that."

Moving to the side of the wall nearest Gonzales, Melissa yelled out to him.

"Gonzales, you got any grenades left?"

He pulled one out and showed it to her.

"This is all I've got. It's smoke."

"Perfect."

She turned to Four Fifty-one.

"You ready?"

The Lieutenant-Commander dropped her rifle and nodded to Gonzales. He pressed the button and tossed it.

The grenade spun as it hit the ground, throwing smoke in a wide circle around it. The enclosed room swiftly became obscured, and the disrupter cannons showed it. They spewed the green blasts around the room seemingly at random, sending wave after wave of fire over their heads.

Four Fifty-one scooted out and began working with the console on the door, first trying to figure out where the previous person had left off. It looked like they had been trying to bypass the door entirely, and simply disengage the locks. Since most of the work was already done, it did not take her long to complete the project.

The smoke was beginning to clear, and the cannons at the opposite end of the room were getting their bearings back. A few shots barely missed Melissa when she peeked out from behind cover. Four Fifty-one was farther back, which would give her more time, but not much.

With a clunk, not dissimilar to the one that locked them in, the door released but did not open. She gripped the seam between the two and pulled with all her strength. It budged slightly, but the little it gave was not enough. Though hers was still above the average human, it wasn't enough to push the two sides of the door apart.

Gonzales joined her, sliding his fingers into the widening split. Pulling together, they managed to force it open a few more centimeters, just far enough for a single person to slide through.

Waving Melissa and Four Fifty-one on through, Gonzales threw his weapon at the cannon. The disrupters swiveled on their bases, but missed all three shots it fired at the rifle.

He turned to the door and started to make his way through, squeezing between the two large metal doors. Then he stopped, and slumped to the floor.

A single shot had struck him in the back of the neck, burning a black crater in the base of his skull. Four Fifty-one checked his pulse and shook her head.

"He's gone."

Melissa put her hand on his shoulder, but quickly retracted it as disrupter fire spewed out of the opening in the door.

"He can't be. He made it this far."

Four Fifty-one stood, sticking close to the wall.

"The universe does not care how hard you tried. Come, we must go."

"You don't even care!"

She grabbed the Ensign by the shoulder and dragged her away.

"I will have a philosophical debate about the nature of life, later. For now, we must take steps to ensure that we live to have that discussion."  
Melissa tore herself from Four Fifty-one's grip and readjusted her dirty, ripped uniform.

"Sometimes I think I know why you don't have any friends."

The Lieutenant-Commander ignored her, moving down the hall and checking signs. She could not read the Klingon written on the walls, but she hoped that the pictures would guide her in the right direction.

The Ensign caught up, huffing before deciding to speak to her.

"What are we looking for?"

"Transporter Room."

Melissa stopped at one of the panels on the wall, hit a few buttons and pointed down the corridor to their left.

"This way."

Four Fifty-one fell in step behind her.

"I did not know you could read Klingon."

"You never asked, and I'm not really that good."

She took a sharp right, putting them in a hallway facing a group of Klingon Warriors working on a piece of circuitry in the floor. Both groups froze for a second before Melissa pulled her into a side room.

"In here!"

Spinning around and hitting the lock button, Four Fifty-one could hear them yelling and banging on the door.

"Starfleet tlhap chaH!"

Melissa moved to the panel in front of the transporter pad, tapping frantically at the controls.

"There's an encryption key on this! I can't read it well enough to even try to break it."

Four Fifty-one backed away from the door.

"I would suggest you move quickly. I do not believe we will keep them out of their own transporter room for much longer."

The Ensign hit a few more keys, groaning each time it buzzed back in denial.

"I can't..."

She paused, looking at the controls suspiciously.

"...nevermind. It just unlocked."

"Good job."

Melissa shook her head.

"I didn't do anything. I don't think."

"I'm not one to argue providence. Please find us someplace to go."

"Alright. This ship might as well be dead in the water, so transporting out isn't going to be a problem, but I can't find anywhere to go. Most of the starships still in one piece are either hostile or have their shields up."

The door started to slide open, Klingon fingers coming in at the seam down the middle. Four Fifty-one moved briskly to join her.

"Anywhere would be better than here."

"Yes. Wait. A cruiser just dropped its shields. Let me get the coordinates."

With a reverberating clang, the door to the room came open.

Hitting the final button, Melissa turned and crouched down, followed quickly by Four Fifty-one and a barrage of fire.

"Okay, on one, into the transporter."

Four Fifty-one readied herself for the leap.

"Understood."

"Four... Three... Two... One... Here we go again."

They dove in head-first, a few disrupter blasts accompanying them.

The two hit the carpeted floor and rolled, the floor rumbling underneath them. It was dark here, but they were definitely on the bridge of a Starfleet vessel.

"Ensign Raleigh?"

"Here, Lieutenant-Commander."

The lights slowly came back up, and they found themselves facing a battle-worn bridge and what was left of its crew. Four Fifty-one recognized the Captain.

"Jameson?"

"Four Fifty-one?"

Melissa stood, leaning on her knees and looking back and forth between the two.

"You know each other?"

The Captain gave her a brief glance.

"We have a shared acquaintance."

He returned to Four Fifty-one.

"Do you have any Command experience?"

She pulled herself to her feet, remaining as stoic as she could through the pain of the bruises that had yet to heal.

"I commanded a starship for a brief time."

"Good. I recently lost my First Officer and I could use someone with some tactical training."

He pointed to Melissa.

"If you're feeling up to it, Security might have a place for you temporarily, Ensign."

Melissa gave a stiff wave to Four Fifty-one and headed to the turbolift.

A voice came from behind them, a man in a yellow Engineering uniform who'd been quietly working.

"Our shields are back up."

Jameson turned to him.

"Why did they go down, Lieutenant?"

"I've no idea, sir. They just turned off for a few seconds and then came back on all on their own."

"Message sir."

The two took their respective seats, Four Fifty-one to the Captain's right. She sat in the plush chair slowly and let herself enjoy it for a moment. Yesterday, she was an ignored security officer on a tiny forgotten frigate, and today, for the time being, she was the First Officer on a Sovereign-class Cruiser. She did not let this escape her.

Jameson continued his conversation with the communications officer.

"Prepare Engineering teams for another repair request."

"It's not a repair request, sir. It's a distress call. MACO ship: Sigma 1-6. "

Four Fifty-one leaned over to the Captain.

"That's the ship my previous command was providing cover for. They were attempting to capture this fleet's flagship."

"Why?"  
"I believe that Starfleet wanted to use it as a bargaining chip in peace negotiations."

Jameson pressed a button on his chair as he talked.

"Helm, take us to that ship. How many on there?"

"Five."

The ship came into view as they turned into it. It was little smaller than the Avarayr and lacked any design sophistication. It resembled a black box with warp engines stuck to it, like someone had taken a transport ship and added armor. The damage to it was severe, the rear entirely missing, replaced by a gaping hole. Pieces fell off the underside as it coasted towards them.

The Klingon battleship above it was not much better, and appeared to have only one functional disrupter array that it was pushing to fire as often as possible. The MACO vessel responded with a weak turret mounted on what was left of the bottom of their hull. If it were not a life and death struggle it might be comical. Two powerful warriors were reduced to stabbing each other with toothpicks.

Jameson looked back at Four Fifty-one.

"Anything you can give me on this?"

"Your vessel, damaged as it is, is still more than a match for the Klingon Battle Cruiser. The array they have on the front does not have an arc that can hit us if we come at it from underneath."

He nodded and pointed to the screen.

"Take us underneath. Once we're out of their weapon's field of fire, drop our shields and beam the survivors to the bridge."

Four Fifty-one cocked her head and looked at him.

"The bridge?"

He shrugged back at her.

"Everybody seems to be coming here anyway."

The Lieutenant beside them slid his fingers up the control panel.

"Energizing."

The sounds of the transporter could be heard as the familiar blue light materialized the forms in front of them. The female at the front was instantly recognizable, even with the dark-red blood running down her face and clothes. Though that was not the most striking change he noticed.

"Raising shields."

Jameson stood and stopped short when their eyes met. He barely got the order out of his mouth.

"Helm, uh, maintain position."

"Aye sir."

He took two steps forward, placing him directly in front of her.

"Three-Twelve."

"Captain."

"You've uh, changed. A bit."

She dropped her gaze to the floor, cradling one injured arm with the other.

"You could say that. We have much to discuss."

"I'd say so."

Four Fifty-one did not stand, but she knew that her sister saw her. At first, she was reluctant to speak because she did not know what to say, but now it was clear that there was nothing to say. She could only look at Three-Twelve, mouth agape. It was simply not possible.


	5. Chapter 5: Prelation

_There are two mistakes one can make along the road to truth... not going all the way and not starting._

~Buddha

_**-5-**_

_Prelation_

Three-Twelve closed her eyes as tightly as she could as the extra G-force pressed her to the back of her chair. Luckily there was no need for her to pilot the OBV for the short three-seconds it spent hurtling towards its target. She hated the trip every time she had to take it, since it left her helpless. One well-aimed disrupter blast and it was all over before it began.

Even through her eyelids she could see the blinding flash as the OBV's batteries discharged against the weakened shield, punching a hole just long enough for her single tiny vessel to slip through. It was followed by the immediate tightening of her chair's restraining straps as it braked suddenly for contact with the hull.

After attaching, the mining-grade lasers vaporised a hole one meter in diameter and supercooled the edges before popping the door open. If they opened. They had a bad habit of sticking after being heated and then rapidly returned to room temperature.

Three-Twelve slapped the button on her restraints, releasing them, and pulled her blade and holstered pistols from their cabinet on the wall. Still in the same motion, she leapt forward and out into the hall, taking position behind a metal support strut.

The Klingons had wasted no time, setting up barricades and turrets not far down the corridor.

_Eight, up._

Eight turned on her personal cloaking device and spun out into the hall as the rest of the team began to lay down suppressing fire. The cloak was not perfect, by any means. It lasted only a short while and certainly was not anywhere near invisible. As long as they could keep the Klingon's attention, though, it might as well be.

Three-Twelve sent a series of blasts down the hallway, alternating between her two pistols, and then laid back against the wall for a rest. She couldn't believe it; they weren't even five minutes into this and she was already tired.

It'd gotten steadily worse over the last few weeks and she was sick of fighting it. The weariness crept up on her each time, and she would press back with every bit of strength that could be summoned. Latching onto her anger, she'd plow ahead until they were done. She wasn't sure what her limit was, but it had to be getting close.

Pulling herself back to the fight, she linked into Eight, and could see that the drone was in position, hidden on the opposite side of the barricade. Three-Twelve slid out from cover just as her squadmate opened up fire on their flank. Within a few seconds, all the Klingons were dead.

Twenty emerged from behind them and pointed towards the opposite end of the corridor. He ran in front and took the first right, just behind Seventeen, who had managed to pass her while she was still getting up.

_Bridge, this way._

Reluctantly, Three-Twelve joined them, trotting behind, keeping an eye to their rear. This was not her normal position, but she was too weak to sprint to the front.

The whole squad was waiting for her at the door. Twenty was feeding all of them visual information about what was on the other side; a large battle awaited.

Three-Twelve waved her hand in the air and walked off.

"Computer. End simulation."

Eight nearly fell backwards as the wall behind her disappeared, giving confused glances to the others as she steadied herself. They returned in kind, dispersing after a brief exchange that was muffled by the closing holodeck door.

Seventeen caught up with Three-Twelve in the hall, stopping her with a hand around the arm. She didn't have the strength to resist, and stopped.

_ Status._

_ Tired._

He relaxed his grip a bit, suddenly aware that he was detaining her.

_ Heartbeat is irregular. _

_ Will try sleeping._

_ That where you are headed?_

Three-Twelve disconnected, walking away and pulling herself from his loosened grip.

"No. I'm going to eat some spinach now."

Seventeen did not pursue her. He took a step back, a look of confusion being the only thing he could muster.

"I was not aware you enjoyed spinach."

She pressed the button to open the barracks door.

"I hate it."

"But you are going to eat some anyway."

She gave a quick single nod before moving inside.

The trip to the replicator was a laborious one, and selecting the spinach-type food was even worse. With all of the technology behind them on the battlefield, one would think that they could install a decent menu system. She finally selected an option out of desperation and waited for it to materialize.

Three-Twelve took her bowl of green leaves and flopped herself on the bed, face-first. What served as her pillow shifted itself to her neck, forcing her nose and the implant around her eye into the mattress. It was uncomfortable, but she didn't have the energy to move her head.

A single hand held the glass bowl, while the other fed the spinach into her mouth from the side. A few chews and she swallowed, her hand acting as a butler to shovel the green leaves.

It tasted awful. The acidic tinge given off by the leafy substance made her think of a poison. She was not enjoying it, but she could not stop. There was an actual physical hunger for this substance that she was slowly satiating.

When Three-Twelve decided that she had force-fed herself enough, she pushed the bowl to the wall and turned on her side. A gold piece of cloth hung there just above her discarded dish, tacked in place with a few pieces of metal she had found in the hanger.

There were not many adornments to her bunk, as was true with most of the other soldiers here. Decorating was an inefficient use of time, so nearly the entire barracks was bare. This sash, however, she kept strung up to admire.

Three-Twelve had retrieved it off a dead warrior some weeks back in an operation that was divorced from their current campaign. She had smuggled the property back with her in the bottom of a weapons crate.

They weren't supposed to keep anything from the operation, but then again they weren't ever supposed to say anything about it either. She had heard from others that they were fighting something from another dimension, whatever that meant. It was all very hush-hush and very confusing.

Her team was dropped in to secure a shipyard of some sort. It looked like a Federation setup right down to the colors of the carpet, but as Twenty had pointed out, it was most certainly not.

The humans there were much fiercer fighters than anything she'd met in Starfleet, and were an enjoyable enemy. Like all the others she had fought, they fell in short order. They were strong, but Three-Twelve was stronger.

She wanted to keep a memento of some kind, so she tore the gold sash off of one of the felled humans and hid it until she could get it back to her bunk. Now that it was up on the wall, no one asked any questions about it, not that any but the Liberated ever came into the barracks.

With a weak hand, she drew her finger around the patch on the end of the belt. It had a picture of the planet Earth, with a sword going through it vertically. There was blood from its previous owner around the edges, obscuring most of the letters, but she could read "-ong Live the Terran Empire. Loyalty, Streng-"

Three-Twelve rolled onto he back and but kept her eyes on the sash as she fell asleep. Maybe she'd meet someone or something from this Terran Empire again in the future. They were certainly more fun than anything she'd fought in this dimension.

Doing her best imitation of the stern expression that she normally wore, Three-Twelve propped herself against the battleship's wall. Her feet had started to hurt unexpectedly, and the quick relief of one and then the other was a welcome change. She tried to keep from resting her weapon on her stomach, since it had begun to get very sore lately.

This battleship had come out of nowhere, and was entirely alone. It was a gift neatly wrapped for their assembled forces. They got the drop on it easily enough, and after a quick exchange of fire its shields dropped and Sigma moved in. It was probably the easiest capture they'd had in the three-quarters of a year they had been doing this.

She could see Seventeen in the corner, gun in hand and ready to finish this. He was keeping a close eye on her, more so now that they were no longer on the holodeck. The reluctant restraint of his attention was prodding her through the shared connection. She shoved him back a few times just to make sure he knew that she was aware of his efforts.

As angry as it made Three-Twelve, she could not blame him. Her actions over the past few months specifically had been, at best, erratic. Between the chronic fatigue, random bouts of soreness and predictable vomiting sessions, she'd almost turned herself over to the doctor.

However, there was no guarantee that there would be any kind of quick fix to her ailment. It was very possible that it could be something serious.

She could be pulled from active duty and that could not be allowed to happen. At least, not yet. She was the Prime for this Clutch and if taken out, then the entire squad would go too. At best, they'd be pulled while she recovered, at worst, they'd be reassigned and disconnected from her. They could not take her few stumbling steps towards perfection.

Suppressing the sudden onset of fear running through her, she pulled the visuals from Twenty's retinal implants. He was almost done with the lock, but the seven Klingons on the other side of the door looked more than prepared.

_ Eight, ready?_

_ Ready. _

The second the door popped open Eight ran into the room, a shadow made of clear gelatin bounding to the shadows on the far side.

The Warriors turned their attention to the invisible intruder, dropping panicked shots on their equipment and walls. They were blindly firing at the poorly-lit areas of the bridge, which since it was a Klingon ship, was most of the room.

The rest of the squad moved in, Twenty and Seven taking three out immediately to the left. Eight emerged from behind a nearby support strut to claim one herself.

Three-Twelve was able to take two out with one blast from each pistol before a third surprised her from her right. He didn't bother to fire his weapon, swinging at her with a piece of craggy metal like a baseball bat.

The first swing was an unmitigated success, landing square on her left arm, since she had no choice but to block it. She could feel the metal bend slightly as the force was absorbed by her reinforced skeletal structure.

Not daunted in the least, the Klingon swung again and again, each landing solidly. Three-Twelve could only but keep up. No matter how fast she tried to move, her muscles would not respond quickly enough to gain the upper hand.

After a few seconds, the beating was mercifully ended by a single shot from behind her. The red phaser blast hit the Warrior in the chest, tossing him backwards to the floor.

She tried to turn and look at Seventeen, who had fired the shot, but immediately crumpled to the ground. Her body went lip, dropping her like she had been turned off by a switch.

Three-Twelve looked up to see Seventeen kneeling over her, tricorder out while the others gathered around as well. It felt as though she'd only blinked, but she was sure that more time than that had passed.

He put the device back into his belt and pressed a few buttons on an implant in his arm. Placing both fingers on her temples, he squeezed gently. After a brief hiss he removed his hands and began to hoist her to a standing position.

Three-Twelve accepted the assistance, shakily pulling herself to her feet.

_I fell._

_ No. Rendered unconscious. Malnutrition. Have given you vitamin infusion and mild stimulant._

_ Sick?_

_ No. Will discuss when we return to the base. Stay awake._

She stood as rigidly as she could when the Starfleet security forces beamed in around them. They paid the MACO unit little attention, going about their business of securing the ship.

Though appearances said otherwise, Seventeen was holding the majority of her weight, propping her up like a doll against a chair. Three-Twelve's vision began to wobble, falling into black as her squad was transported away.

Searching back through her memories, she could remember being moved around the base in spurts. Her squad had gone to great lengths to see to it that she got to the barracks without being seen.

Now, Seventeen was leaning over her with a tricorder, and at intervals moving back towards the alcoves to make a few adjustments and return. The rest of her Clutch stood in the back, eying her as though she were some sort of exhibit. They were all disconnected, so she could not read what they were thinking, but she did not have to.

Seventeen took notice when Three-Twelve's eyes opened, though that did not stop his work. He waited for her to start the conversation.

"What's wrong with me?"

"This."

He turned the tricorder to her, so she could see the tiny screen in the middle. The image was of what looked like a large soggy peanut tethered to the inside of a deflating ball. She looked at it for several seconds before rolling her head back towards him.

"That is inside me? Is it a parasite?"

"It's an embryo. The heartbeat irregularities I was detecting during our last training mission were two hearts, one beating significantly weaker and partially off from the other."

Three-Twelve stopped with her mouth half-open, staring at the drone for a while before turning her attention back to the image on the tricorder. It did indeed look like a peanut, but as she examined it more closely, its arms and legs became more apparent.

"But that's not possible. Natals cannot..."

Her words fell away since there was not support for them, receding behind a flurry of emotions. She was thankful that they weren't connected now. There would be no way for her to control the floodgates. All that was certain before was now in flux, without form and drowning in fear. Immediately upon uttering the question, she despised herself for showing such weakness.

"What should I do?"

The sentence fell from her mouth like a plea of desperation, and her expression as distraught to match. She needed him to tell her anything, to fix it all and sew up this vulnerability gaping in her stomach.

Seventeen closed the tricorder and kneeled down, placing himself at eye level with her. Taking his time to choose his words carefully, he looked her over with concern. He did not need to be linked to see that there was reluctance and fear in her.

"Do you know who the father is?"

Three-Twelve gave a weak nod.

"It can be-"

She paused for a second and restarted.

"It can only be one person."

He stood, snapped the tricorder shut and pulled a device out of his arm. After a few button presses, he leaned down long enough to inject something into her neck.

"I'll be needing to give these to you on a regular basis. Also you'll be feeling fatigue and soreness for a while still. Your malnutrition is a result of the regeneration cycle being unable to feed you the proper nutrients for your condition."

Seventeen gave a brief glance to the others and then returned to her.

"You will inform the doctor at your earliest convenience."

"They will remove you from me. We will be dispersed."

"We are your Clutch, and you are our Prime. We will stay with you, as long as the Colonel allows it."

"And you are willing to do this for me?"

He motioned for the others to leave the room, patting her arm as he departed.

"No. I will do it for us, but at a cost: You will never keep anything from us again. Ever."

"I will follow your request."

"We are requesting it. We are demanding it."

Seventeen did not wait for her, tapping the lights off as he exited, but he did not need to stay for the obvious answer. She had little to exchange for all that her Clutch gave her, and they asked for nothing but transparency. That trust had been strained to its breaking point, and still they did not abandon her.

Three Twelve pulled the blanket up to her chin and snuggled in. The fear was still there, buttressed with uncertainty and doubt, but it was unstable and felt that it might fall away at any time. This was not the type of perfection that the Borg strove for, but she was sure that it was the closest one could get outside of the Collective.

Three-Twelve entered the Infirmary and sat down on the nearest bed. As with most things MACO, they were hard, only a centimeter of coarse padding between the user and the metal struts that held it up. As uncomfortable as they were, the construction only made them marginally worse than their beds.

The doctor was on the other side of the room, typing away on a console, looking back and forth between it and the pad in his hand. He appeared to be busy, so she sat quietly until she was noticed.

With a start the doctor jumped when he saw her, nearly dropping the device in his hand. He gave a brief, forced smile and approached her, placing the pad on a table near his station.

"Three-Twelve! You scared me. Didn't even hear you come in. What can I do for you?"

"I require a medical examination."

He picked up a tricorder from one of the bays on the wall and moved to her side. Flipping it open he popped the small scanner out of the top and began to wave it over her, starting at her head.

"Anything in particular? I heard that you canceled a training mission mid-scenario the other day. I was thinking of stopping by, but hadn't gotten to it yet."

He was lying of course. The doctor was not malicious in his attitude towards the drones, but he certainly had no intention of checking on them. Three-Twelve decided that it was best to play along with his fallacious sincerity. She may be relying on him in the near future more than she wanted to admit.

"I may not be able to perform my duties in my current state."

"Well, aside from a little hormone imbalance and some weight gain, I'm not really seeing-"

He stopped when he reached her stomach. After a few seconds he managed to push out a single word.

"Oh."

Placing the tricorder in the tray, he motioned for her to lie down. While she did so, he turned around and picked up a rather large medical instrument and placed it into a slot on the side of the bed. He pulled the screen up to eye level and placed a flat arm out over her midsection. When he pressed a button on it the arm lit up and began to move horizontally, scanning across her.

"I didn't even think this was possible in you Natals."  
"I was of the same opinion."

The doctor spun the screen around on its pivot so she could see it. The image was of a strip of flesh with a round nodule connected by a wavy chunk of tissue off to one side. The entire organ resembled a funnel but the largest part along the left side was a dark gray.

He pointed to the right side, running his finger down the pink-ish part.

"This is what you were left with when you were liberated from the Collective: A single ovary and about a third of a uterus. An egg got fertilized and implanted here."

Moving his hand over the darker area in a swirl motion, he continued.

"When that happened, the nanoprobes in your body began to rebuild the missing organ, or at least part of it."

The doctor tapped on the screen and zoomed in to a microscopic level, showing individual cells along the gray side. There was what looked like a mish-mash of active ones punctuated by dull lifeless globs.

"Since the cells don't divide fast enough, it looks like you created placeholders that bind the tissue together, but don't perform any actual function."

He retracted the screen and the arm, lifting the entire contraption from the bed and placing it back on the table behind him. When he turned back around, he propped himself up beside her, bouncing his head up and down like he was thinking.

"It's really amazing, though not entirely without precedent. We've known that certain drones can regenerate missing organs and the whole system is generally independent of conscious intervention but still..."

Wandering off for a bit, mumbling. He came back and pushed himself back to a standing position.

"What I don't understand is how you're not falling over from malnutrition. This whole process has to be very resource intensive."

Three-Twelve got off the bed and stood.

"I am assuming that I will be pulled from active duty?"

He gave a vigorous nod before grabbing a nearby pad.

"Oh, definitely. That's just procedure, though it'll be up to the Colonel what to do with your squad. I don't think any of the others have the proper implants to be the leader."

"They do not."

The doctor returned to his desk, tapping on his pad the entire way.

"I'll go ahead and send a report to him. Considering how far along you are, you should have been pulled from active duty months ago. I'm sure he'll want to speak with you."

"I'm sure he will."

Three-Twelve moved out the door and into the hall, heading back towards the barracks. She would need to take a brief shower and prepare herself for what was inevitably coming next.

"Well, this changes things."

The Colonel returned the datapad to the doctor and situated himself in his chair. He fidgeted a bit, picking up various items on his desk and setting them back down.

"So, I suppose we'll be doing this without Sigma-6 for a while, at least in the short-term."

The doctor dropped the pad into his pocket and leaned back, pointing his finger on his other hand towards Three-Twelve.

"That is protocol. Since she's going to be out for such a long time, we might look at breaking the group up among the other squads. But, that's going to be a big job, disconnecting and reconnecting them."

Three-Twelve jumped in before the Colonel had time to respond.

"You cannot take my squad from me. They do not wish to leave."

His uncertainty turned to anger, a change she was intimately familiar with. He squeezed on the small stone he had picked up earlier.

"That decision is not yours, Bog."

She didn't fight him as he stared her down. The game was too intensive for what little emotional energy she had left. There was only one card left in her dwindling hand, and she needed to wait until the right time to play it.

"We've been able to reach an agreement before. I'm sure that we can reach one again."

That got the Colonel fidgeting again. He shakily placed the rock over to the side and motioned to the door.

"Doctor, unless there's anything else?"

He stood and shook his head, making his way out.

The two stared at each other for a while after the door had shut. The Colonel broke the silence, his voice strained as if he were on the edge of crying.

"Do _we_ have anything to talk about?"

Three-Twelve looked down at her hands folded on her stomach and then back up to him. She told him the closest thing to the truth that she had.

"I do not believe so."

He was visibly relieved, wiping his hands on the tail of his jacket like Pontious Pilot.

"That's good."

A freighter could be driven between the pauses in their conversation. The script for both of them was laid out quite clearly, but neither wanted to progress it any further. However, they were forced to, and as such they did it with reluctance.

"You wish to keep your squad together?"

"Yes. They have requested it as well."

"If that is all then, I suppose we are done."

Three-Twelve pushed herself to her feet, keeping her arms around her mid-section, as though she was protecting what was inside from herself. There would be one final play before this game would end, and she would lay the card down freely, this time. There would be no struggle.

"I do have another."

"And it is?"

"I wish to still be on the Sigma vessel, when we attempt to take the fleet's flagship. I can still be useful, even if I am barred from combat."

He stood as well, and slowly made his way to meet her at the door. A sly smirk crossed his face. She did not need to look up to know it was there, it was woven into his voice.

"Then we will discuss this at a later time. Perhaps there will be less fighting this time."

"There will be no fighting."

Three-Twelve took off into the hall, head held high in a lie. Even if she were capable of crying, she would not. There could be no weakness in her. Her soul was forfeit, sold to the only bidder in the room. Now, devoid of morality, she must latch on to her rage and anger and barrel through this. She was a shell of shame, but there might be hope for the next.

Straining against the pilot's wild maneuvers, Three-Twelve tapped the unlit console in front of her, reestablishing the link between her and the rest of the squads. As with most Sigma MACO equipment, the ship was old, cramped and musty, and despite her inability to gather much evidence of it, everything felt to be covered in a wet residue.

Even though the inside of the vessel was dark, the flashes of light from the weapons' fire outside the ship provided more than enough light to see the panel. There was a fixture above her, but it either did not have power, or had been burnt out years ago.

The screen that contained the vitals of the squads did not have any kind of backlight, and the dim interior of the ship did not help. If there was not an immediate flash from outside, she would have to stare at the screen until it was illuminated.

The speaker fizzled on, piping the audio from the Prime of Sigma-1's helmet. It was mostly silence, layered with heavy breathing and a few muffled phaser blasts. She'd like to hear what was being shared across their link, but distance prohibited it, not that she would've been able to make much use of the audio. All of those drones talking to each other would sound like a mass of whispers, comforting, but without useful form. For now, they would be a slave to simple verbal communication.

"Sigma one, report."

"Sigma one. All squads in position outside the foyer to the bridge."

Three-Twelve could hear the sounds of a large door sliding open, followed by the thumping of a score of feet. The voice came back after a minute or so, as though they forgot that someone was listening.

"The door shut behind us, and locked. I've got one of the Utilities working on it now and I've sent another to the front to break the one to the br-"

The sentence was cut short by a mass of what sounded like disrupter blasts. Three-Twelve looked over to the vitals screen to see, in a shapshot from a brief explosion outside, the utter decimation going on on the inside. Squads 2 and 4 were gone, entirely. Sigma-1 and 3 were without their Prime, the latter having been reduced to a single Medicament drone.

Three-Twelve moved quickly, hands floating over the panel as a blur of button presses linked her into the single drone from the third squad. She could hear his heavy breathing over the shots being fired. It sounded as if he were crying. She spoke as quickly and as clearly as she could.

"What's going on? We just lost vitals on nearly everyone."

After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke, his words given unnecessary pauses by his strange breathing interval.

"I-I don't know. It was a trap. There was about-about, five turrets here just waiting for us. We didn't see it coming. They're all dead. All of them. They're all dead."

"I'm showing four of you alive. Is that correct?"

"Uh, n-no. I'm only seeing two others. One on the other side shooting back and Fourteen trying to open the door. They're all dead."

Three-Twelve took a quick glance at the vitals. He was right. In the short time since she'd last looked, they'd already lost another.

The pilot, Seventy-one, yelled over her shoulder from the cockpit. Though they weren't being targeted since they weren't firing, she had her work cut out for her, dodging ships, debris and disrupter blasts.

"I'm getting a distress call from the units on the ship. What's going on?"  
Three-Twelve hit the mute button on the speaker and turned to the pilot.

"They're under intense fire, I need you to get us as close to the ship as possible."

"And do what? We can't beam them, the Klingon vessel's shields are still up."

"This ship has a few weapons along its underside. Hopefully, one of them has power."

Turning back to the screen, she moved over to the weapons on board. There were four short-range turrets along the back and they were old, very old. Two didn't have power, but the second and fourth ones seemed to still be connected into the main line, probably by neglect rather than design.

Seventeen moved to her side, holding a bent metal bar that was more likely part of the support structure of the wall console than a grip. He looked at the screen but spoke to her.

"Those weapons are not built for battle."

"If we can weaken the shield, we might be able to beam through. The ship is already heavily damaged."

Seventy-one shouted to her, this time not looking away from the windows and viewscreens.

"I can't get underneath again, it's too chaotic down there. I can go over the top though."

"Do it."

Seventeen opened his mouth to protest once more, but decided against it. Three-Twelve nodded in approval and returned to her work powering up the phaser turrets.

"Firing two."

As expected, the weapon's shots were slow and weak, hitting the shields and fizzling out. There wasn't enough strength behind the phasers.

She tripled the power output to the fourth turret and fired again.

The whole ship lurched as the sounds of an explosion began to rumble through the walls. Three-Twelve was thrown away from her console, striking her head on the one behind her. She shakily returned to the panel, gripping the metal bar more securely this time.

"The rear bank exploded. Put too much power through it."

Looking up at the cockpit, she could see the pilot struggling maintain control. They were speeding head-first into the top of the Klingon flagship. It was trying to dive away from them, but it was too slow. Impact was unavoidable.

When they hit, the belly of the MACO ship splintered like so many wood planks across the shields. This only slowed their descent by a fraction, throwing the weight of their vessel into the flagship's hull.

Three-Twelve could feel the tendons in her arm snapping as her fist tightened around the bent piece of metal in her grip. She was sure there was pain, but none could be felt at the moment.

Seventeen lost his grip upon the second impact, tossing him away. She caught him with one out stretched hand, and did her best to offer some stability, even though there was none to offer.

Then there was silence as the hunk of metal skipped free, the image of debris and the Klingon ship floating away in a spin among the stars. She let go, dropping herself to the grated floor, but quickly rose again.

Her nearly-black blood coated her vision as she looked around before standing. Everyone still appeared to be alive, but the ship was coming apart at the seams. Her arm was useless, severe muscle damage and probably a broken bone or two if she was lucky.

Hoisting herself back to the flickering console, she examined the extent of the damage. The MACO vessel was beyond repair, and maybe even salvage. The frame had been bent into a curve and most of the underside was missing. What little was left intact leaked atmosphere if it had not already been depleted.

Seventeen leaned against the wall beside her. Despite the cuts to his face and torn uniform, he looked like he had fared much better than her.

"We need to send out a distress signal."

Three-Twelve shook her head.

"No. We might have enough power to transport to the Klingon ship."

"We are too damaged to assist. We will die if we attempt to do so."

"Then I will die."

He grabbed her good arm and yanked it away from the console. With a firm handhold on her wrist he gave a brief glance to her large, swollen stomach and back to her.

"This is not about you anymore. Re-evaluate."

Three-Twelve strained against his grip for a few seconds and then relented.

"I will send the distress call."

Seventeen relaxed his grip, letting her bring up the communications array and queue a beacon. Almost instantly, a Sovereign-class vessel, the U.S.S. Áo Dài, answered the call and notified them of their approach.

Blood trickled down her face, but Three-Twelve did not bother to wipe it away. Her mind was elsewhere now, waiting for what felt like hours for the ship to come into range. The Battleship had ceased to see them as a threat and moved on to more tempting targets.

When the call finally came, the five stood in the best circle they could manage, given the close quarters, and waited until the transporter beam to take them away.

They materialized on the bridge of a starship not more than a little worn. A few panels were flickering on and off, but in all the vessel seemed to be holding together quite well. At the very least, it was in better condition than the MACO ship.

Looking up through ragged hair and blood, she met eye-to-eye with the last two people in the universe she expected to see.

Jameson stood, his gaze one of utter disbelief as he looked her over. She fought it, but she couldn't help but shirk from him. Three-Twelve knew exactly what was running through his mind, and he was probably right.

He talked to the officer in front of him, but never left her.

"Helm, uh, maintain position."

"Aye sir."

With a few steps, he placed himself within centimeters of her stomach, which he still took short glances at while he spoke. The pressure to collapse in front of him and beg his forgiveness was unbearable, but she kept her poker face. She would not be forced out of the game at this stage.

"Three-Twelve."

"Captain."

"You've uh, changed. A bit."

She folded. Her eyes dropped down away from his.

"You could say that. We have much to discuss."

"I'd say so."

As Three-Twelve exited the bridge, she could see her sister in the First Officer's chair. Her anger welled up, but was quickly drowned in sadness and then blanketed in a damp film of shame. Four Fifty-one standing on that ship, proud, was more than she had accomplished. She brought nothing but disgrace in comparison.

Three-Twelve connected into the others immersing herself in their emotions rather than her own. She could feel hers shrinking as the drug filled all the crevices abandoned by her soul. There was nothingness now, in the ebbs of the Clutch. She was so numb. So comfortably numb.

The Áo Dài rocked a bit, as the battleship took a few pot shots at them. Its last array was overheating and scattering the beam, which sputtered to a stop just seconds before being forced to fire again.

Jameson grabbed the railing on the ship, snapping out of the stupor his previous conversation had left him in. He sat down in his seat as he rubbed his face, giving a brief hand gesture to Four Fifty-one.

She took this as an indication to go ahead of her own accord and spun herself half-around with a finger towards the Lieutenant tactical officer in the back.

"What are the armaments on this vessel?"

He looked off to the side and stuttered like a schoolboy being given a pop quiz in front of the class.

"There's uh, two photon torpedo tubes, one fore and one aft. The rest are single beam phaser arrays."

"Rating?"  
"All Mark VIII."

Four Fifty-one took her seat and pointed to the Klingon Flagship on the large screen at the far side of the room.

"Helm, evasive maneuvers. Bring us up broadside and hold torpedoes. We want to capture it, not kill it."

The image shifted as they moved quickly in a two-hundred degree arc, placing them alongside the faltering battleship. A few brief and well-placed shots from the aft phaser arrays put the final bit of fight left in the ship down. A small explosion erupted from the area where the shots had been concentrated and then it went quiet.

"Lock a tractor beam onto that vessel and lay in a course back to the fleet."

A voice from the helmsman acknowledged the command with an "Aye-aye."

The Klingon ship trailed behind them at the end of their blue conical leash, moving slowly but steadily towards the Federation ships that had pulled back to the Transwarp gate. The pause was a welcome reprieve from what felt like years of constant fighting.

The Engineer off to the side, a Bolian, broke the silence.

"Incoming Klingon ships."

Four Fifty-one gave a quick glance to the Captain, who was still lost in thought. He gave her a brief wave to carry on, so she did, standing and making her way to the center of the bridge.

"On screen."

A large grouping of the smaller Klingon Birds of Prey were on their way. Individually, they posed no real threat, but as a pack the ships could be quite dangerous.

"Signal the fleet that we have the flagship and we are attempting to bring it in, but we are being intercepted."

"I already did. They are moving to our position. However, they will not reach us in time."

The tactical officer quickly twitched his head as he went back and forth between the two panels in front of him.

"They are firing."

"Reroute power to shields."

"I don't think they're aiming at us."

The viewscreen switched to an image of the Klingon battleship just as three torpedoes hit its hull. Plasma fires that had been waiting for the chance engulfed the top of the ship and spread quickly down the spine. Four Fifty-one took a quick step back to the science station and looked up at the elevated officer in the blue shirt.

"Can we extend our shields around them? That might buy us some time."

She nodded.

"Yeah, I can do that. But we're going to have to get close and stay there. If the Klingon ship goes, so do we."

She gave the console a brief tap with her hand as Four Fifty-one moved back to the center of the room.

"So many lives lost on capturing this, we can't leave without it."

The Áo Dài moved over top of the battleship, re-engaged its tractor beam and with a flicker created a thin bubble around the both of them. The shields flashed as hit after hit of torpedo and disrupter blasts pelted the forcefield.

Four Fifty-one returned to her seat, grabbing the armrest for support.

"How long until support gets here?"

The Bolian gripped his console to steady himself from the ship's forward lurch as he responded.

"Less than-ugh-sixty seconds."

"Stop firing once the fleet arrives. Let's try to slip out the back."

The wall panel on their right exploded, sending sparks across the room and filling the air with smoke. A damage control team, of which this ship seemed to have in plentiful supply, was repairing it almost immediately.

Starfleet ships surrounded the two vessels and engaged the Klingon forces, driving a wedge between them. Slowly the attacks lessened until but a few shots, probably misses from other targets, were the only incoming fire.

Jameson leaned over and whispered to Four Fifty-one.

"Well done, Commander."

"Lieutenant-Commander."

He returned to his original position.

"Yes, well, we'll have to fix that."


	6. Chapter 6: Detachment

_In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future. _

~Alex Haley

_**-6-**_

_Detachment_

Three-Twelve left the quarters she had been assigned and headed down the hall to the Sickbay. They had placed her mercifully close to it, and considering the circumstances it was probably by design.

While she did wish to speak to the doctor, any reason would have been a good one to escape from her room. Not that it wasn't nice; the accommodations were downright luxurious.

The bed was much too soft for her liking, nearly drowning her in blankets and pillows. After an hour of fighting to stay afloat, she took up a spot on the floor.

Even there, Three-Twelve had problems. The room was too large, lined on one side with a set of four giant windows that peered out over the hull. She had rearranged her bed, the small coffee table and a set of drawers to make a quarter-circle around the corner where she slept. It would be best if her quarters were simply smaller, but complaining was not something she intended to make a habit.

The door opened with a swish as she made her way into the sickbay. Seventeen was off to the side with the doctor discussing something, so she waited until they noticed her.

"So, this device allows you to select, via some sort of heads-up display which of the drugs you want to administer?" the doctor asked, pointing to the collection of implants on the Liberated's arm.

"That is accurate. The tubules proceed from the forearm, down into the tip of the pointer and middle fingers where an injection system delivers them."

The doctor's eyes got big as he noticed the new addition to the room.

"Three-um.."

He snapped his fingers in a muffled flurry, waiting for her to finish the sentence for him.

"Twelve."

"Ah yes! Three-Twelve. Are you here for your checkup?"

"Yes."

She connected into Seventeen long enough to relay a message.

_Prefer privacy._

He nodded and made his way out into the hall. When the door had shut, she took a seat on the nearest bed, giving the firm mattress a test squish before she settled into it. She wished she could sleep in here.

The doctor was all smiles as he pulled out his tricorder and did a quick scan over her body, slowing when he reached her stomach.

"I'm Dr. Nell, by the way. We didn't get to talk much when you were in here the other day. I see the arm is healing up just fine."

After a few seconds of waving the device back and forth with no response, he shut it and gave her another smile.

"Well, you're doing fine, and she's doing just as well."

"She?"

The doctor froze for a second, before continuing to place the tricorder back in its cradle. When it snapped into place, he turned back to her with one eyebrow cocked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know that you wanted it to be a surprise."  
"I wanted no such thing. I had simply not been informed."

"So, have you been thinking of a name?"

Three-Twelve looked away, her eyes darting around the room before coming back to his.

"Three."

"Three? You aren't going to choose a human name?"

"I am not human."

Dr. Nell bobbed his head as he moved slowly back to his station. After reaching it, he steadied himself on the workbench and leaned back with his arms crossed.

"Well, genetically you are. And so is sh-"

"I am _not_ human."

He held up his hands in front of himself, surrendering.

"Okay, okay. So, why Three?"

Three-Twelve stood and adjusted her damaged uniform. Her arm was still weak from the damage it had sustained, but with the doctor's help and her regenerative abilities, it was almost back to being usable. Even so, the cloth slipped out of her hand when she tried to pull her shirt down, making her reach across with the other to give it a brief tug.

"There is me, my other and now her. She is number Three."

He let out a laugh and returned to his seat.

"I suppose that does make sense. The other is the Captain, or so I've heard."

"If he wishes. I will not force it on him."

"You haven't talked to him?"

"No. He is very busy. Jameson will come to me when he is ready."

Nell gave a quick wave to her as she walked towards the exit.

"Good luck to you, Three-Twelve."

She stopped, gave him a brief tap of the head before heading into the hallway.

"Thank you, doctor."

It took a bit more to track him down than she thought it would. Jameson was down a Jeffries Tube near the Science Lab, one arm poking out with a device Four Fifty-one did not recognize. The two befuddled Ensigns standing in the hall outside scrambled to get the requested tool as he tossed one out and waved his hand around.

"No, the other spanner. You can do it with this one but doesn't sync as tightly."

Four Fifty-one kneeled down in front of the tube and tried to find the Captain, but his body was obscured by a series of circuit panels that had been pulled out above his head.

"Captain Jameson?"

"Four Fifty-one?"

"Yes. I need to speak with you."

His hand slid the boards back into place as he pulled himself out and into the corridor. After righting himself he popped open the toolkit of one of the Ensigns and pulled out a spanner.

"This is the one you want to use. The bit looks like its going to be a little small, but it'll work better."

He handed it to him and moved towards Four Fifty-one.

"Number one."

They turned and walked away, leaving the two engineers exchanging confused glances. Four Fifty-one kept herself slightly behind him and to his right, letting him lead while she spoke.

"Is there something wrong with the way the repair teams were progressing?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"It is not customary for the Captain to assist in repairing damaged equipment."

"Ah, yes."

He folded his arms behind his back before he continued.

"I got a little tired with the paperwork. Also, I figured I'd show them a few things."

"I believe you were making them nervous."

"Well, they shouldn't be. I'm not going to demote them just because they put in a chipset wrong."

They stopped at the turbolift and waited for it to arrive. Jameson leaned up against the wall, doing his best to avoid eye contact with her. Four Fifty-one had a feeling he knew why she was here.

"You should understand. I remember a very nervous Engineer some years ago."

He let out a short laugh.

"Ha! Yeah, that was mostly because of your..."

The Captain trailed off, and eventually fell silent. She took this chance to press the question.

"Have you talked to her yet?"

He didn't say anything back, just shaking his head.

"You should."

"Are you offering me counsel, Commander?"

"Yes. I believe it might interfere with the efficiency of the ship."

The turbolift door slid open and a few Starfleet officers came out, all acknowledging the two as they passed. When it had cleared, they stepped inside.

"Bridge."

She could hardly feel the lift move as it started its ascent, much different from the Avarayr. Jameson began to speak, softly enough that she thought it might be overwhelmed by the hum of the ship.

"Just before you arrived, we dropped our shields to transport over some Engineering teams and a few Klingon Warriors beamed to our bridge. It was completely unexpected, a total massacre. Lost most of my bridge crew."

He sighed and leaned back on the wall.

"I thought I was dead. I thought we were _all_ dead. But I wasn't scared. Just kept fighting until they were all gone. Wasn't afraid, not one bit."

Jameson licked his lips and continued.

"Then she arrived, and I just locked up. I was scared. Terrified."

"You are afraid the child is yours?"

The Captain gave a forced smile and crossed his arms. His eyes drew trails along the floor as he searched for the words beyond the first one.

"No. I was afraid that it wasn't."

"You wish for the child to be yours?"

"I have a lot, Four Fifty-one. I fly a state-of-the-art Sovereign-class starship. The current pride of the Federation. I've got commendations, awards and hundreds of officers that would jump into space if I told them."

The lift began to slow as they neared the bridge. Jameson looked up as he talked.

"Stop lift."

It came to a halt, locking the door closed.

"I have all of this. I have so much to give. But what is the point if I don't have anyone to share it with?"

"Anyone?"

"No. Not anyone. Just her."

"And if the child is not yours?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know. I suppose I'll leave that decision up to her."

"Sometimes I wonder if my sister deserves you."

"You shouldn't be so hard on her. She's been through a lot more than I think either of us realize. If you can get her to drop that armor she's always wearing, I think you'll find something human under there."

"I wouldn't tell her that."

Jameson chuckled.

"Neither would I. Lift resume."

It started again, speeding up and then immediately beginning to slow back down. When it had come to a complete stop, the door opened and the two stepped onto the bridge. Four fifty-one moved in first announcing them.

"Captain on the bridge."

She took up position at the middle of the room, looking over the officers gathered there. Jameson gave a quick nod to the crew standing at attention.

"Number one, you have the bridge. I'll be in my Ready Room. I have some more paperwork to finish."

He stopped and gave her a knowing nod.

"And then I have someone I need to speak to."

Three-Twelve sat in silence after the door chimed. She didn't know exactly why she was waiting, but it felt like the proper thing to do. There was no doubt in her mind who was on the other side, and they were probably less excited about having to go through this than she was.

The chime rang again, and though it had not changed it sounded more insistent. She took a little piece of metal that was originally part of a rank insignia for her uniform and held it between her thumb and forefinger. She felt like a murderer, waiting for the victim to fall into her trap.

Pulling a blanket over herself and sitting up straight in her chair, Three-Twelve tried to look as best as she was able. It did little good, and her reflection in the mirror across the room reminded her.

She was not usually concerned with her looks. In fact, it was in most cases the furthest thing from her mind. Against her will, she had become more aware of herself and the bulbous stomach she was carrying around, and it was not to her liking.

There was a constant fight to suppress it, since it was pointless to concern herself. There was nothing to be gained by her sudden interest in her own appearance. Yet here she was, doing just that.

Three-Twelve tucked her hand under the blanket as the chime rang a third time. Now was as good as ever.

"Come in."

The door slid open and Jameson stepped in, slow and paced, as if cued for a film. Stopping at the small table that made up the wall of furniture in the corner, he sighed.

"Hm."

She was tired of all the waiting. There was little planned for the day, but she wasn't going to waste it on this frivolous emotional blockade.

"I will have you know that I do not need your assistance. If you do not wish to participate in raising this child, I will not force you."

He moved toward her, taking a seat on the nearest chair.

"So it's mine?"

There were a thousand answers to that question, all permutations of the same set of two. She could see in his eyes that he wanted her to say yes, which was a surprise. There was half an expectation that he would go running from the room.

Three-Twelve could not have hated herself more for thinking such a thing. She should have not expected anything less than this. That the thought even crossed her mind, let alone been entertained for more than an instant, was an insult. In a thousand years, she would find no better man. One that would, and did, cross galaxies just to spend a few days with her.

And until now, she had taken it for granted. She had taken everything for granted.

However, he was still a human and would certainly leave her if Three was not his. She could not blame him. There had been an unsaid contract between them, and she had broken it. Unwillingly broken it, but shattered it around her feet all the same. The truth had not been said, nor would she ever, and in that omission they had become lies.

The other one would not care for her like Jameson would. He would not speak to her, except in anger. He would not touch her, except in lust. There would be nothing in that man's arms but hate and resentment. Though it pained her to bring an injustice on the one that had shown her so much reciprocated kindness, she told the only half-truth she could.

"Yes. If you want."

"I do."

"You will have to put up with me for a very long time."

He smiled, the first one she'd seen since they were both at the MACO base. She tried to smile back, but the heavy weight of shame pulled it from her face, leaving a forced doppleganger in its place.

Jameson scooted his chair closer to her.

"Well, now that that's out of the way. I suppose you'll have no choice but to stay on my ship."

"I see no other alternative."

"You have others."

Three-Twelve reached her hand up and stroked his cheek.

"_We_ have others. But for now, this will do."

He leaned in and took a kiss from her, and then another. She gave them as freely as she was able, reveling in the choice itself. They were all his, and his were all hers.

Reaching her hand around his head, she placed the sharp edge of the metal against one side of his neck and drew it across in one, quick motion. Jameson flicked his hand back, hitting hers away.

"Ow! What the heck was that?"

She showed him the metal piece, his blood spattered across it.

"My rank insignia must have come off and stuck to my sleeve. Are you okay?"

He reached back and dabbed the wound, returning with a small bit of blood.

"I think I got cut."

"I'm sorry. Do you need medical attention?"

"Yeah, feels pretty bad."

Three-Twelve started to stand, grunting loudly as she did. Jameson held out the hand not gripping his neck, motioning for her to stop.

"No, don't. I'll be back in a bit."

She relaxed into her chair as he made his way out of the room. When the door had shut, she stood and took the metal piece over to set of drawers in the corner. Removing a sealed bag from the third one, she placed the metal piece inside, rolled it up and hid it under a neatly folded uniform.

There was no joy in what she was doing, but there wasn't another way. The answer must be found, and on her own terms.

"It's not totally unheard of. There have been detachments assigned to ships before."

The man on the screen leaned forward, taking Jameson's words in stride, but seeming to be unswayed by them. The Admiral paused before offering his retort, a common trait among Vulcans.

"I am aware of Starfleet procedure involving MACO assignments. However there are two obstacles to your request."

"And these are?"

"First, MACO assignments are not requested, they are given. Secondly, the Sigma-6 squad is an exception to the normal protocol. They are considered Special Ops. The last of their particular grouping, if I understand properly."

Jameson rubbed his forehead. He had to get the reassignment to go through, but arguing with this Vulcan was wearing him thin.

"I understand that, but isn't there anything that you can do as a Starfleet Admiral? Surely there are some strings you can pull up there."  
"There are no strings to be pulled. MACO is not under direct Starfleet control. If Federation Command wants them assigned somewhere else, then there is nothing anyone of any rank can do about it."

"So she'll just have the child, and then be shipped back out."

"Three-Twelve will have all the same rights and privileges of any other MACO personnel."

Rubbing his hands while he spoke, Jameson fell back into his nervous twitches that he usually fought hard to suppress.

"I think it would be best if both of us are on the ship, that she remain here if at all possible."

The Vulcan cocked one eyebrow, tilting his head slightly towards the screen.

"The child is yours?"

"Well, yes."

"Then that might change things. I will see if I can find some strings."

Jameson smirked and clasped his hands together as if he were going to clap, but decided against it at the last moment.

"You were always my favorite Senior officer, Admiral Lahk."

The Vulcan did not say anything, pressing a button off the screen to end the conversation. The words "Transmission Ended" flashed a few times before he was returned to the home screen.

He spun in his chair, facing the wall, where he stayed for several minutes before the door chimed.

"Come in."

The calculated, predictable footsteps leading into the room gave away his visitor immediately. He waited until he heard Four Fifty-one stop before he turned around to address her, noting the pad in her hand.

"Commander."

"The port nacelle is repaired, as are most of the main systems. Aside from a few odds and ends, as well as a new paint job, the ship is back together."

"Wonder if we can get it in blue. Michaels liked blue. Just about the only thing I knew about the man."

"Michaels, sir?"

Jameson stood and started towards the replicator on the far side of the room. He wasn't in any rush, using the time to think before he responded.

"The previous officer in your position. Commander Michaels. He was killed when the Klingons boarded the ship."

"I am sorry for your loss."

"I barely knew him. He wasn't here a week prior to this mission, taking the place of another officer I'd known for years who was offered his own command. This does put me in an odd position."

Four Fifty-one placed her hands behind her back and shifted slightly to face the Captain.

"It does?"

"I've got to write to his family, and I haven't the faintest idea what to say. 'Michaels was a fine officer, and he liked the color blue?'"

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

"I will and that's the problem. I don't want to say just something. I'd hoped that I'd be more eloquent."

Jameson pressed a few buttons on the console and took the drink when it materialized. He pivoted slightly towards Four Fifty-one, pointing to the replicator with a swish of his cup. She shook her head no as a reply.

He took a few steps back to her, holding out his free hand for the pad in hers.

"Enough of my problems. How are we doing on personnel?"

She gave it to him, pulling the data she needed directly from her Imager.

"As far as loss of crew goes, percentage-wise, we fared much better than most of the ships directly involved in the battle. We will need more security forces, as most of ours were depleted."

He sipped his drink as he used the thumb wrapped around the edge of the pad to scroll through the requisition list.

"And the other departments?"

"Civilian losses were light. All departments have sufficient personnel to continue, excluding Engineering. We have two lead spots open and no seasoned Engineers to fill them."

"Promote Ensign Tapaoan. He's a little stubborn, but he can do the job and he's been here long enough to deserve a shot."

She nodded quickly to him and continued.

"We are still picking up escape pods and salvage, which does put us in a unique position."

The Captain paused his reading and looked at her.

"It does?"

"Yes. The majority of the pods come from ships that have been destroyed. There are very good officers being displaced."

"You're suggesting that we offer them positions on the Áo Dài, before they are reassigned elsewhere. Snatch them up before anyone else gets them."

"That is what I am recommending, yes."

Jameson placed the pad on his desk and sat in the accompanying chair. He gave her a brief glance before returning to his work.

"I leave it to you then. Pick who you think is best and we'll go from there."

Four Fifty-one shook her head slightly, and gave the Captain a confused look.

"You're asking me to make these decisions?"

He shrugged.

"Who else am I going to trust with this? You're my First Officer now. Put them together in a report and I'll sign off on them."

"Of course. I apologize. I am not used to being assigned tasks of such importance."

"Well, get used to it. I'm a very lazy man."

He gave a quick laugh to which she responded to with a smile.

"Anything else for me, Commander?"

"No. All of the details are in the report."

"Then you are dismissed."

Four Fifty-one turned and headed into the hall towards her quarters to begin sifting through the refugees. There were some very distinguished officers that found themselves suddenly without an assignment.

It was now her job to go through the possible applicants and find the best of the best. It would be a long complex task, but she was more than glad to have it. She'd been in Starfleet for years, but it wasn't until now that she actually felt like an officer.

Four Fifty-one stepped into the third cargo bay, with two pads in her hand. Bay three was the largest of four main ones that ran the length of the aft of the ship. Even though she'd spent nearly a week on the Áo Dài, the sheer size of this vessel continued to astound her. This cargo hold alone was larger than the entire Engineering deck on the Avarayr.

The room was filled with the officers of various ships sifting through, scanning and organizing pieces of wreckage that were being beamed in. Spotting the two she was looking for, Four Fifty-one made her way there, weaving through the haphazard piles of twisted metal and broken computer components.

Melissa waved as she approached, giving Darren a brief tap on the shoulder at the same time.

"Commander Four Fifty-one. My, that new pip looks nice."

"Thank you, Ensign."

"So, what brings you down to the dungeon?"

Four Fifty-one divvied the two pads up between them.

Darren was the first to speak.

"You're reassigning us to the Áo Dài?"

"If you wish. These are requests to be assigned to this ship. You are under no obligation to accept them, but if you do, they will most certainly be approved."

Melissa pressed her thumb at the bottom, scribbled a signature and returned it to her.

"Well, I'll join. Where else am I going to go where I'm in good with the First Officer?"

They both turned to Darren who was scrolling down the text reluctantly. He stopped when he realized he was being watched.

"I'm not going back to Gamma shift, am I?"

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"No, you will be lead on Beta Shift. I'm placing you just under the Chief Engineer."

He signed and fingerprinted the pad, holding it out with a wag.

"Then you've got me."

She took it and placed it under the other in her hand.

"How is the salvage operation going?"  
Melissa threw up her hands.

"Who knows? They keep bringing it in, and we keep pulling out isolinear chips. Seems like it's never going to end."

Four Fifty-one turned to Darren.

"And why are you here?"

"Oh, just helping out."

She took a brief glance at Melissa who had grown a knowing smile on her face, before returning to the Lieutenant.

"That was charitable."

"Well, figured I had the free time, and all."

"I see."

There was an uncomfortable length of silence before Darren started up again. He latched onto the only piece of conversation he had left, launching into it headlong.

"How's your sister?"

Melissa looked at her with her head cocked to one side.

"You have a sister?"

"I do. I have not spoken to her since I arrived."

Darren shook his head.

"Well that's no good. You two not on speaking terms?"

"Not as such, though she has many things going on. I feel that I would be a hindrance."

"I bet you wouldn't, but you probably know your situation better than I."

"Most likely. I must be going. I have other crew members to recruit, and you look to have a lot of work to be do."

Four Fifty-one turned to walk away, but stopped and came back.

"Also, while attendance is not required, I would appreciate you two showing up to the funeral ceremonies for the crew of the Avarayr tomorrow, specifically Gonzales."

They both nodded back to her.

"We will."

Melissa waved at Four Fifty-one as she left. Darren returned to the burnt circuit panel he was examining on the floor before they were interrupted.

The Ensign squatted next to him and pulled out her tricorder.

"I didn't know she had a sister."

"Her sister's pregnant."

"Pregnant?"

"With the Captain's daughter."

"The Captain?"

Melissa ducked down when she realized how loudly she'd exclaimed that last part.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?"

Darren continued to pull chips out of the green and blue glowing board in front of him.

"Nothing boring, that's for sure."


	7. Chapter 7: Addition

_Behind every beautiful thing, there's some kind of pain. _

_~Bob Dylan_

_**-7-**_

_Addition_

Jameson was exactly where she thought he would be, staring through the plexi-glass at the child underneath. He didn't move much, just watching the tiny hands and arms flail about as it soaked in its new, small world.

Four Fifty-one took up a spot beside him but remained quiet, putting the datapad in her hand on the thin counter in front of the window. The little girl had Three-Twelve's features, that much was certain. Her little sprouts of black hair, big brown eyes and lightly tanned skin gave some indication as to her sister's original genetic makeup. Three-Twelve certainly would have looked different in full human form.

The Captain leaned over to one side, placing his shoulder against the glass and addressing his First Officer. He did not take his eyes from Three.

"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Just like her mother"

"I concur."

He turned his head back towards Four Fifty-one, looking at her with a large uncontrolled smile on his face.

"And I suppose you are here to tear me away from my new little angel."

"I'd do nothing of the sort. There are things that need attending to, but I have them under control for now. The rest can wait."

Jameson returned back to the child who had fallen asleep quite suddenly. Three's tiny mouth remained open while her chest rose and fell with small breaths.

"You know, I thought I was going to be prepared for this. I thought I'd played out this moment a hundred times in my head. The reality is quiet different."

"It usually is."

He pursed his lips in agreement, still mesmerized by the creation in front of him.

"The doctor's report stated that she has a few nanoprobes in her body, but its so little that it almost doesn't even register. I'm relieved, but I'm not sure how Three-Twelve is going to feel."

Four Fifty-one nodded and crossed her arms.

"How is she?"

"Unconscious at the moment. Nell says that she's recovering extremely quickly, probably be up and around within a few days."

"A few days is quickly?"  
"After childbirth? Oh god, yes. That's practically jumping out of bed afterwards."

The Captain sighed and pulled himself away from the wall like he was going to leave, but was denied. He hovered in the middle of the hallway, not straying his gaze far from Three.

"How are the recruitments going?"

"I thought you said you did not want to talk about work?"

"Indulge me for the moment."

Four Fifty-one picked up the pad and began to thumb through it. She stopped at the list of assignment requisition forms she had been slowly making her way through over the past week.

"I've gotten ten of the thirteen to fill out the reassignment paperwork. I think we've caught a choice selection of science officers."

She handed the digital pad over and waited for him to continue scrolling through it.

"All four of the Ensigns are Liberated."

He stated it like a fact, but meant it as a question for her to answer.

"Yes. Adjusting to life on a starship can be difficult. I have taken the initiative to recruit the few Liberated that have come our way. I assure you they have solid records."

The Captain tapped down the list, approving each one individually before handing it back to her. He did not let the pad go when she grabbed it, using it as leverage to get her attention.

"We all have our causes Four Fifty-one, but make sure this ship and crew are your first priority."

"You can trust that I will."

Jameson released the pad.

"Of course I do, or I wouldn't be approving them."

Dr. Nell had somehow come up on them unnoticed, startling Four Fifty-one when he spoke.

"Captain, Commander."

He gave them both an unidentifiable hand gesture before returning to Jameson.

"Is she bothering you with work already? The Liberated are a busy bunch, aren't they?"

"No, doctor. It was at my own request. You needed something?"

"Yeah, I've got some paperwork for you to fill out on your newest crew member. Fair warning, once you sign these there's no turning back."

The doctor gave a glance at Four Fifty-one for recognition of his joke. Receiving nothing, he returned the Captain who was looking at Three.

"Yeah, I think I'll take her."

Dr. Nell slapped him on the arm and headed back into the Sickbay. Jameson followed closely behind, starting a sentence just as the door closed, cutting it off before it was intelligible.

Four Fifty-one leaned down in front of the little girl, who was waking up and falling asleep in spurts. She raised one of her gloved hands and gave a brief wave to Three and accompanied it with a smile. The child opened its sleepy eyes, returned the wave in an awkward fashion and smiled back.

Four Fifty-one had never envied her sister more.

Even after Dr. Nell left, Three-Twelve waited for about fifteen more minutes to make sure he wouldn't come back to interrupt. Once satisfied he was gone for the day, she righted herself on the bed and waited for the pain to subside.

The doctor had ordered her to stay down for at least two days, but she had more confidence in her regenerative abilities. It hurt to sit up straight, so she leaned to one side on a tense arm and focused on standing.

Her legs nearly gave way under her as she was met with more instability than she had anticipated. But with much determination and not a few curse words she made herself walk, albeit slowly, towards the door.

It swished open when she arrived revealing the empty hall beyond. With one hand on the frame, Three-Twelve leaned out and looked into the empty hallway.

At this hour, she didn't expect much in the way of personnel walking the corridors, but she wanted to be as careful as possible. The less there was to explain, the better.

Three-Twelve ducked back inside and made her way to the doctor's desk, grabbing a small biomatter extractor. She stuffed the device into the single pocket on the front of her flimsy gown and returned to the entrance, checking once again for any officers that might be wandering about.

Using the small groove in the wall for support she made the trek slowly down the hallway to her quarters. Inside, she retrieved the small blood-spattered piece of metal from the third drawer and added it to her pouch. With her still enlarged belly, the outlines of the two items could be seen quite clearly through her clothing. She certainly wasn't hiding anything if she was caught.

The nursery was situated on the other side of the hall from the sickbay and was usually unstaffed at night, the computer doing most of the work itself. Divided up into two rooms, the unlocked viewing area and the secured nursery, Three-Twelve made her way through the former, catching a quick glance of her child as she passed.

She placed her hand on the reader and the door slid open to the dim nursery. There were only four stalls in the room, Three in the second one from the right. Moving to her, she pulled the biomatter extractor from her pocket and powered it on.

The child grabbed Three-Twelve's finger and giggled when she moved in with the device, causing her to pause for a minute. She couldn't see her baby very well, but she could feel Three's eyes on her. Pushing aside the rush she had to complete the task at hand, she ran her finger down its nose and cupped her tiny head.

Three-Twelve wriggled her finger free, to which the infant responded with a few crying coughs before it quieted again. She placed the extractor on its belly and pulled the trigger. With a hiss, it pulled a few drops of blood painlessly from its body. With this, she leaned down, gave the child a kiss and exited the room.

Checking the hallway once more, she moved across and back to the sickbay as quickly as she could. The pain had started to increase, which only made her push herself more. She needed to get this over and done.

At the medical station in the corner, she placed the vial from the extractor, and the unwrapped piece of metal. It scanned the two, and after a few button presses revealed the information she had requested.

She knew that the pain in her stomach and legs had not left, but it was no longer felt. The physical pain was submerged under the final piece of her soul gasping its last breath and dieing in her chest. There was other way out now.

She had been weak, allowed herself to fall victim, and then she had submitted herself like a whore. Now, she was a deceiver of the one person she had least wanted to hurt. The life she wanted, that she felt could be gotten at any time, was now no longer attainable. There was only the lie.

As Three-Twelve placed the items in the replicator to be recycled, she wrapped herself in the unspoken untruth. The second she did so immunity befell her, and it began to feast upon her, pulling one pinch of her away at a time.

It would be a long road ahead, and there would be less of her at the end. This was a worthy price. She saw nothing of herself worth keeping.

Four Fifty-one adjusted the new pins on her collar, like she had a dozen times before now, and straightened her uniform yet again. The Captain had been out for nearly this entire trip, leaving her on the bridge most of the time. Though she had trouble relinquishing the chair, the job was boring, watching the stars streak by on the viewscreen for days on end.

After they'd dispersed their excess engineering crews to the ships that could have their warp capability restored, they'd set a course for Earth Spacedock. The refugees from the vessels that weren't so lucky remained in the cargo bays on bed rolls, while the crew and senior officers were given quarters.

Placing cots and doubling or tripling occupants to a room, they'd only left about a hundred still in the holds. Thankfully, the trip back to Earth was a relatively short one, a day or so at most. It would have been shorter, but one of the nacelles was a little rickety after taking a disruptor blast, and Jameson refused to let the ship exceed Warp 3. Even though the risk of a structural failure was low, she agreed. To survive that entire battle and then blow up on the way home would have been an ironically tragic end.

She had used the eight hours spent on the bridge getting to know her new crew. Most of her work was done through personnel profiles, since not many seemed to want to talk with her outright. However, a few had struck up conversations.

One in particular, a blue-faced Bolian, Ensign Mal Brett, talked almost incessantly about every topic under the sun. He seemed to annoy the other bridge crew, but Four Fifty-one rather enjoyed his company. The Ensign seemed congenial enough, and he knew when to stop for something more important.

While she didn't like talking much herself, the Bolian's stories were usually amusing and filled the silence that most found uncomfortable. Also, he was as transparent as could be, always speaking his mind and totally blunt. Both things Four Fifty-one could admire.

Ensign Brett was the polar opposite of their brown-haired Science officer, Yukiko Anagnostou. She spoke almost as much as Four Fifty-one, hardly at all, and in a soft tone that almost lost itself in the hum of the ship. The woman seemed friendly, and if what Brett had to say about her was true, a complete pacifist.

Though she held no official Starfleet rank, Yukiko still had a place on the bridge. Her knowledge in space-faring life forms and training in a variety of other disciplines tended to make her most valuable contributions at a station.

Anagnostou was signed on as a research scientist, but said little about her work when she did speak. Four Fifty-one assumed that she most likely would rather be spending the extra time in the labs. If she felt this way, however, she gave no indication of it.

The turbolift doors opened and Jameson entered, fiddling with the cuffs of his uniform as he made his way to the center chair. Four Fifty-one stood at attention

"Captain on the Bridge."

He waved his hand and took up his spot beside her.

"As you were. You need to stop doing that."

"It is protocol."

"Yes, but it's unnecessary."

She gave a quick nod and sat down with him at their stations.

"Duty does not commence for you for another two days."

"Yes, but I hear that you have someone coming up from Earth to meet you. Besides, I've nothing to do right now."

"You have a new child."

Four Fifty-one leaned back in her chair as she spoke, and examined the grizzled Jameson. Just looking at him, you'd think he was the one that gave birth.

"I do, and I also have a mother on my hands who won't let me help her with anything."

"Three-Twelve is very self-sufficient."

"I was going to say ornery."

The Helm officer, a large furry Caitian by the name of H'Soe pivoted in his chair to announce their arrival.

"Arrival at Earth in fifteen minutes. Slowing to warp one."

The Captain leaned over to Four Fifty-one, his finger on his poorly shaved chin.

"You'd better get going."

"Thank you."

"Think nothing of it. Wouldn't want to keep the old man waiting, anyway."

Four Fifty-one stood and headed to the turbolift, placing her back against the side farthest from the door.

"Transporter Room Three."

The computer closed the door and chimed back in response as she began her descent.

She had to wait for nearly an hour before they started beaming people up from the surface. Dumping the excess crew was first priority, and with the hundreds of Starfleet officers milling around the ship it was no small feat.

He came up in the third group, right after two dockyard engineering cadres. His temples had started to gray considerably, clashing with the the dark skin on his friendly, but sagging face. Smiling as soon as he saw Four Fifty-one, the doctor made his way towards her, swapping the small suitcase in his hand to the other side.

"Four Fifty-one!"

The older gentleman wrapped his arms around her, pinning hers to her side. She uncomfortably tapped a hand on his leg, the only place she could reach with her limited range of motion. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the transporter personnel smirking.

"Dr. Ti."

"Oh, come now. Do I really deserve the cold, formal greeting?"

The doctor leaned back, clasping his hands to her shoulders and giving her a light shake. He looked like he might cry.

"Commander Four Fifty-one, First Officer of a starship."

"That is accurate."

"So proud of you."

He gave her one more quick shake and walked into the hall on his own. Four Fifty-one quickly moved to catch up, taking the lead.

"We can drop your luggage in my quarters for now. When an appropriate room opens up, you can stay there."

"Sounds good."

"How long will you be staying?"

Ti shrugged, switching the hand holding his suitcase yet again.

"When do you leave?"

"The repairs are minor, but we must wait for other, more critically damaged ships before we can dock. We are estimated to depart in about three days."

"Then that's how long I'll stay, assuming you don't get sick of me. Not a lot of call for old Starfleet doctors on Earth. Miranda probably won't even notice I'm missing."

Four Fifty-one stopped in front of her door and waited for a few seconds while it verified her identity and opened. Normally the door did not lock, but since they had taken on so many extraneous crew, she felt the extra security was necessary in the short term.

They proceeded inside, Four Fifty-one gesturing to the small table in the corner. Ti placed his things on it and took a quick look around. After a good once-over, he pointed to the pads laying around in small piles.

"Project of some kind?"

"Several. I doubt you would be interested in the particulars."

"I'm interested in everything you do. It's been so long since we talked, I'm sure you have a lot going on."

The doctor took a seat at the table with his luggage, resting his arm on it and gesturing for Four Fifty-one to take the chair across from him.

"A command under Jameson of all people. How'd you swing that?"

"A coincidence of circumstance. I was leaving my previous ship at a time when he required a new First Officer."

"That worked out in your favor."

Four Fifty-one finished clearing the seat of all the datapads and sat down in it, resting her arm on the table as well. Ti's eyes did not deviate from her, like he'd not seen her in a thousand years.

"Yes, serving under Jameson has been rewarding thus far. I hope it will continue to be so."

"He's a good man. How he got caught up with that stubborn woman he's with is beyond me."

"They seem quite fond of each other."

Ti chuckled out loud.

"I'm just joking. I love Three-Twelve and her bullheadedness."

"She does have a mind of her own."

"That she does. Speaking of which, when do I get to see the new addition?"

"Jameson is currently on duty, however Three-Twelve has been moved back to her room. I would guess that she is available as she is not permitted to return to active status for another month."

The doctor slapped the table as he stood, readjusting his shirt. He waved his hand out the towards the door.

"Well then, let's get going. What's the little one's name?"

"Three."

Four Fifty-one stood and followed him out into the hall, having to reassert her lead once again. She'd never seen him so excitable. He'd probably go door to door on his own if she let him.

"That sounds just like Three-Twelve."

"We agree."

When the door was finally answered, they were met with the tired face of Three-Twelve. She looked at them through locks of unkempt bangs falling at precarious angles over her face. Not bothering to say anything she stepped aside and ushered them into her quarters.

Everything was everywhere, like the room had been vandalized by someone very interested in baby clothes. The furniture was also rearranged. The bed, dresser and couch formed a small fort-like structure in the corner. Three was not to be found and Three-Twelve gave no indication as to her whereabouts.

Ti wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms in much the same manner he had done to Four Fifty-one. She seemed less uncomfortable with the gesture, relaxing and looking off to the side until he was done.

"Where is she?" the doctor said as he pulled himself back.

Three-Twelve raised a finger to her lips and then pointed to the small cubbyhole of a room off to the side.

"Please be quiet. Its sleep patterns are erratic."

Ti lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Can I see her?"

"If you wish."

The doctor made his way to the small room, leaving the two sisters staring at each other. They took the stance of two gunslingers preparing for a showdown.

Three-Twelve broke eye contact first, moving to the replicator in a slow, labored manner. The words rolled out of her mouth like they'd been practiced.

"Nothing for years, and then I show up on your ship and you still ignore me."

"I had no intention of ignoring you. We both had much to deal with. I am here now, aren't I?"

"Yes. I suppose you are."

She picked up the drink and headed back towards Four Fifty-one. Without slowing, she pulled a datapad from a shelf with her free hand, spinning it upright and turning it on.

"But, I'm not the one you should be seeing."

Three-Twelve placed the pad in Four Fifty-one's hands. An image took up the entire screen, a sculpture of some sort.

"He made that of you. And this one, and this one. There's a dozen or so more but I stopped taking pictures."

With each swipe of her finger across the screen, she was presented with another picture of herself as a bust. The first few were terrible, but they progressed until by the fifth, he looked to have gotten the art down.

Three-Twelve leaned over the top of the pad, her strands of hair hanging in front of Four Fifty-one's vision.

"Wish I had a brother who idolized me like that. Barely even speaks to me."

With that, Three-Twelve ripped the pad out of her hand and poked her hard in the chest with the finger from the other. The glass sloshed a bit, but didn't spill.

"I don't know if you remember what the L.A.F. was like, but he's been there for years, alone waiting for you to send him a message, anything. But you're too busy being important."

She spoke in such forceful hushed tones that Four Fifty-one felt that she was being yelled at. In some ways, she wished that were true. She opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Ti returning from the other room.

"Oh, she is just gorgeous. I can't wait until she's-"

He stopped when he saw the standoff. Three-Twelve pulled back her hand and threw another angry glance at Four Fifty-one.

The doctor looked quickly back and forth between the two.

"Is something wrong?"

Three-Twelve shook her head.

"No. I was just asking the Commander to leave. I'm very tired and she has a communique to send."

Ti moved to them, holding them together in a group hug that the sisters did not participate in.

"It's so good to see you two again, together. I'm so happy for both of you."

He released them and headed for the door, Four Fifty-one following behind.

"Commander." came the voice from behind her.

She stopped and turned back to Three-Twelve, who hadn't moved, save for crossing her arms.

"Do not confuse my anger for hatred. Two-Twenty is not the only one who misses their sister."

Four Fifty-one acknowledged her silently and returned to the hall, where Ti was waiting. Though he quite obviously had an idea of what had just happened, he did not ask for anything further, simply throwing out one piece of advice like it was entirely unrelated.

"Be nice to your sister. She's the only one you've got."

She didn't have anything to say to that, but it didn't matter. They both knew he was absolutely right.

Four Fifty-one stood and reported as Jameson entered the bridge, placing her arms behind her back and waiting for him to reach her. His gait was swifter than previously, some spring returned to it after these last few days.

"We have left the dock and are pulling out of the Sol system."

The Captain stood beside her and watched the receding Earth with the sun behind it. After a while the star enveloped the planet and neither could be distinguished from the other.

"Set a course for the Sierra Sector. Warp five."

H'Soe repeated his order while typing in the coordinates with his clawed hands.

"Sierra Sector. Warp Five."

"Take us out."

As the ship hummed up and released, the stars on the viewscreen shifted from steady pinpricks to thin smears that trailed along the dark like bright raindrops at night. Jameson sat at his station, waiting for Four Fifty-one to take a seat before addressing her.

"Three days was not long enough, but it was good to see Ti even if he had to return to Earth so quickly."

"It was. Did you get a chance to visit?"

"Took Three-Twelve and Three to meet the parents."

"I'd imagine that was quite interesting."

"Uncomfortable for all involved. But I think my father was grateful I didn't come back with an alien."

Four Fifty-one couldn't help but give a small smile as she settled back farther in her seat.

"At least she gets to stay on the ship. I'm assuming the MACO detachment is permanent."

"As permanent as these things get. My security chief is not happy about it, but I think on a professional level he's glad to have the extra firepower wherever we go."

"What's in the Sierra sector?"

Jameson tapped a few buttons on his chair, bringing up a mission outline from Starfleet.

"Agrama System. We've been asked to mediate a trade dispute between a few of the Romulan factions."

"Romulans asking for Federation assistance. Seems unlike them."

"The times they are a-changin', Commander. Between the falling Cardassian government, the destruction of the Romulan homeworld and the Klingons pressing hard against Federation borders and the Orion Syndicate, it looks like this whole Quadrant is about to get turned on its head."

"I was under the impression that the capture of the Klingon fleet's flagship was successful."

He shrugged.

"Depends on your definition of successful. It staved off conflict by a few years maybe, but most of Command is convinced that a war with the Empire is inevitable."

"And what do you think?"  
"I think that when both sides agree that a conflict is going to happen, then it's just a matter of who's going to fire the first shot. All we can do is make sure it's not us."

The Captain leaned forward on his armrest towards Four Fifty-one cuing her to do the same. She did so, listening to his lowered voice.

"I bet you didn't know this considering recent circumstances, but this is an exploration and diplomatic vessel. I intend to return it to such."

"We agree."

Jameson moved back to his original position and took a deep breath. After a moment he stood and made his way to the Ready Room just off the bridge.

"You have the bridge, Commander. Don't shoot anything unless it shoots first."

"Aye Captain."

"Let's try to make some friends. We could use them."

_**Interlude**_

_The Position of Gargoyles_

While just as drab and uninteresting as his cargo bay aboard the L.A.F. the living area he now inhabited was a tad larger, and with more occupants. There was a total of eighteen drones here, all with a similar function as him.

The gray outfits that they were given to wear made them blend almost seamlessly with the walls, floor and alcoves they had been assigned. Gone was the green and black hodge-podge of technology that marked the distinctive Borg look, replaced with the sleek muted silver of the Federation.

The Starfleet alcoves were decidedly better looking; one could not argue aesthetics. Through their own bumbling, inefficient means, the Federation had assimilated back technology from the Borg and prettied it up a bit. Two-Twenty found this amusing.

When he had first been moved here, some months ago, he had worried that this would interfere with the watchful eye he had on the sisters. To some extent this was true, since the ship they were now on took great pains to move outside the normal areas of traffic, rendering his efforts dulled.

Their last prolonged stay within Federation borders put them in the Risa sector, part of the last line of protection for the nearly-constructed Transwarp gate. They were, of course, a last ditch effort should all else fail, too valuable to risk otherwise.

The Horizon-class ship they were on was not a battleship and by design had almost no weaponry at all. Should the ship be captured, it could be explained away as a simple navigation error; an overworked computer core that forgot to carry a one. How they would explain the hull full of drones connected to the ship's dimensional communication array, however, was not clear to Two-Twenty, but that was not his concern.

He and the rest were here to decrypt whatever messages that happened to wander into their territory. At least those were their orders, but as he eventually came to find out, every drone had their own priority. It was an unspoken rule that as long as you did enough work to keep suspicions low, then no one bothered another about their side projects.

Everyone connected had their own, in some form or another. There were two brothers, seven and seven, who were most certainly not brothers but had fondness for each other born out of a mutual prefix number. They would play games for hours on end, besting each other and restarting, carrying on back and forth with any little diversion they could dig up. Once they disconnected, though, you'd not know that the two were aware of each other's existence, never talking or even sharing a glance.

Two-Twenty's self-assigned tasks were not that different from the other drones in their general purpose. However, he was the only one he knew that combined an in-alcove activity with a real world one.

With an ear to the ground, one might say, he kept tabs on all the farthest listening posts to Borg space. Every once in a while he would grasp and capture that one voice that had haunted him since his disconnection. It was a voice he felt he should be intimately familiar with, but could not be put with a face.

Each utterance was nonsensical, arriving on a hushed but urgent tone only to be lost among the trillions of others that echoed in behind it. He could not make out what it wanted, but with the power of the arrays on board this ship, he had begun the laborious task of triangulating its source. A bit would be grabbed here and a little picked up there, a task that would most likely take him years. Patience was one of his few virtues and he threw it all into this project.

Most of the others had more involved activities, some working on complex equations or monitoring that which they felt might be necessary for their intervention. Two or three even acted like virtual vigilantes, righting perceived wrongs or stopping a potentially hazardous situation from exploding.

Two-Twenty placed himself in a third group, but that was probably because he was embroiled in his own concerns. When you are knee-deep in something you can see the minutia much more clearly than someone standing on the edge.

He was only concerned with two, now three, people, and oh how he adored that third one. When the doctor on board the U.S.S. Áo Dài had finally posted the official medical picture of Three, he could not have been more delighted. She was just as beautiful as her mother. Two-Twenty was so glad he'd managed to get them all together.

It had been a long road, that one. It wasn't until they flew back in range of a lone Starfleet communication sattelite sitting on the edge of the Neutral Zone that he had the ability to start work. It was quick and dirty, leaving him scrambling to keep up with them.

Klingon ships were woefully under-protected, except when it came to their weapon systems, and were compromised easily. The hardest part was cracking the computer system for the relatively new Sovereign-class starships remotely. This was compounded further by the fact that he had never attempted to do such a thing. He considering starships to be generally off-limits to his prodding.

In the end, he was able to nudge the sisters to each other, where they should be. Being able to place all three of them on Jameson's ship, however, was a bit of luck that he had not counted on, though he sized the opportunity when it arose.

Now, his time was up and he needed to leave. There was a sculpture he had been working on for a while that required his attention. He hadn't been given as much time as he had wanted, but there really wasn't much choice. Perhaps one day they'd give him more free time, or let him stop this work altogether and sculpt forever, but that time was not today.

Two-Twenty disconnected from his alcove and stepped down to the floor, looking across the drones still connected on the opposite wall. They stood still as stone with their ash-colored skin and gray robes, each in the new metal alcoves.

He couldn't help but liken them statues, at the edge of the universe, watching everything but moving none. The keepers stood, eyes closed, with invisible wings unfurled like guardian angels. This was the position of gargoyles.


	8. Chapter 8: Eidolon

_I figure I basically am a ghost. I think we all are. _

_~John Astin _

_**-8-**_

_Eidolon_

"Fi-Feety one!"

Three bounded up to the crouched Four Fifty-one in the precarious off-balance way that children of her age usually did. She ran into the Commander with her arms splayed outwards, half in a hug, the other in a desperate attempt to not fall over from the impact.

"Happy Birthday Three! How old are you now?"

She held up four fingers.

"Dis many."

"How many is that?"

"Four!"

"Wow. You're getting all grown up."

"Yeep!" Three exclaimed as she nodded her head in an animated manner.

"Well, go back to playing with your friends. I'll give you your present later."

She headed back into the crowd of five or so other children, joining them in playing a holo-game of some sort. Four Fifty-one stood and made her way to the table with Darren, Three-Twelve and Melissa.

Darren held out his hand to the open seat next to him.

"Commander."

"Where's the Captain?"

"Kitchen area," Three-Twelve said with a thumb pointed over her shoulder, "Decided he wanted to make a real cake this year. I would not recommend interfering."

Four Fifty-one smiled, took a seat and waited for them to resume their conversation. Melissa was half-way through one of her long stories about some person she worked with. How Darren put up with her was a continuous source of amazement.

"And that's when she said at least she didn't start blasting 'Two-Step' all through the deck. I mean, can you imagine?"

Four Fifty-one nodded while she spoke.

"That's what I got for Three's present. The new songs, anyway."

Three-Twelve leaned forward on the table, placing her drink down.

"I thought I told you that I didn't like that group."

"That was what she asked for."

"That's not the point. The Liberated should not be singers," Three-Twelve retorted.

Melissa shrugged as she interjected her own opinion between the two sparring sisters.

"They're okay. More for the younger audience, though. I wouldn't get any of their stuff."

Four Fifty-one ignored her, returning to Three-Twelve's prior comment.

"Why not? What's wrong with Liberated singers? They can do whatever they want."

"The Liberated will not make any headway in this society prancing around on stage singing. They should be engineers, doctors-"

"-warriors, scientists?" Four Fifty-one threw back. "What's the point of obtaining individuality if we have to conform to you?"

"My child is unfocused as it is. She does not need that kind of role model confusing her further."

Four Fifty-one relented. This was not the time nor the place to be having this argument yet again.

"I know they're not the ideal role models, but she's four, and they do have positive traits."

"Like what?" Three-Twelve spat.

Darren jumped in immediately.

"Well, they're fun to look at. They've got that going for them."

They all looked at him, Melissa more angrily than the two sisters.

"What? They are."

Three appeared from behind Four Fifty-one's chair, jumping up and down.

"Fi-Feety one! Help us play the Space Monkey game!"

Three-Twelve shook her finger at the child, leaning forward and looking down on her. She glanced sheepishly at her mother and then back at Four Fifty-one's knee.

"I mean, um, _Commander_ Fi-Feety one, wouldchu _please_ help us play the Space Monkey game? We need a big person to throw the ball."

"Of course I can."

Four Fifty-one stood, rounding the chair and heading back to the other children, who were dancing around a holographic monkey throwing balls from a barrel. She took her position on the other side and raised her hands, ready to catch the balls given to her.

Three-Twelve watched them play as Melissa and Darren had a friendly argument over what he meant by "they're hot." She knew that Four Fifty-one's unstated objection was correct, but she dare not admit it out loud. Three was not like her mother and she never would be.

The Transwarp Gate quickly filled up the whole viewscreen as the Áo Dài disengaged warp and began the impulse-powered glide towards it. It was a magnificent piece of architecture, by human standards. If needed, the gate was large enough to send an entire fleet to the Gamma Orionis sector, located on the other side of the known galaxy, instantly.

That's exactly what Starfleet had done. They went in with the melodramatically-named "Omega Fleet," guns blazing. Or, they would have been blazing, if there was anything to blaze at.

The Federation had lucked out, locking into some forgotten conduit sitting on the edge of the Cestus sector. The Omega Fleet moved in, set up shop, and began their counter-offensive against the Borg.

It had been largely successful, which was a surprise to almost every tactician in and outside of Starfleet. When the Borg were threatened, they left little to chance. It was widely believed that once one ship or planet was liberated, a wave of Cubes would descend on them.

So, by degrees, with calculated force, the Federation and a few Klingon ships moved into the area. They took one planet, and waited. Then they took another planet, and waited. Then another and another.

The backlash never came.

After claiming almost the entirety of the Cestus sector, the Omega fleet stopped, and pulled back to the gate. Now, patrols were sent out at regular intervals to check for Borg activity, rotated through on a schedule.

This week, it was the Áo Dài's turn. They were to make a full loop of the sector, and the report back to Omega. Once every other year, this routine they followed, for the last four years.

H'Soe spoke loudly in his gravelly voice as they glided into the spinning whirlpool of blue that had appeared before them.

"Moving through Transwarp Gate in 3... 2... 1"

The bridge was illuminated with a flash as the ship was relocated seamlessly across thousands of lightyears. The Starfleet vessels of the Omega Fleet were suspended in a huddled group right at the entrance to the gate, prepared to defend the conduit should the Borg suddenly decide it was worth their time.

"Moving to first waypoint."

Jameson acknowledged the Caitian and turned to Four Fifty-one.

"Third time doing this and it still amazes me that what used to take us over a month of travel is now a less than a few seconds. Back when I was on the Labra, we dropped off the map when we ventured out here."

She leaned over to him, placing her hand on her chin. The ship's hum evened out as it nestled into a cruising speed.

"This is old technology as far as the Collective is concerned."

"True. Which makes me worried."

"As am I, just like all of Starfleet and the Klingon Empire. There's no likely scenario where this is a good thing."

Jameson nodded.

"We've been out here for a few years, right on the edge of Borg space. We've done our best to antagonize them, and they've not bothered us in the least."

"It is possible they are waiting for something."

"Or worse, are distracted by something."

"That is most definitely worse, but I like neither."

The Bolian, Brett, interrupted them.

"Three Borg ships just entered into sensor range. A standard Cube and two Spheres."

Jameson stood and proceeded to the Ensign's station.

"Have they detected us?"  
"Yes, they are scanning us now, and they are..."

He trailed off while he tapped away on his console.

"...ignoring us? They have not altered their course and are proceeding out of the system."

"That's highly irregular. A cube and two spheres? We should make a tempting assimilation target."

Four Fifty-one joined the Captain at Brett's console.

"The U.S.S. Kirk reported a similar situation a few weeks ago. They came within a lightyear of a Tactical Cube, but it didn't budge."

The Ensign at the Helm turned around in his seat, facing the officers, but with one hand still on the control panel.

"Lay in an intercept course?"

Jameson waved away the question and returned to his chair.

"No, continue to our waypoint. We're here to scout and observe, not to chase down Cubes and get into fights. Conn."

"Yes sir?"

"Send this information via subspace to the Omega Fleet."

"Aye, sir."

Four Fifty-one sat back in her seat as well, sighing as she looked over at Jameson. He was eyeing her like she had some sort of explanation.

She shrugged.

"I'm starting to feel neglected."

Three-Twelve headed through the ditch with pistols down, keeping an eye out to the side for her target. Four Fifty-one could be anywhere now, since it had been almost a full minute between shots.

She leaned around the edge of the small wall that she was hiding behind and took a quick look at all the highest towers. There were two of them, one each on opposite sides of this field, but there didn't seem to be any sign of her sister in either.

More than likely the slippery little woman had placed herself at one of the slightly lower spots and was waiting for her to come into her field of vision. Four Fifty-one rarely missed, so she had to take each step carefully.

Three-Twelve faked a move into the adjoining corridor, spinning back behind her previous cover. As she had expected, a shot tore into the wall, dead on target if she had decided to go through with her plan. Her sister may be slippery, but she was also predictable.

Taking advantage of the reload time on the rifle, she jumped across and rolled to a protected position on the other side. Her tactical implant gave an idea of the direction of the shot, but it was only an approximation.

The guess turned out to be accurate. Four Fifty-one ran across the room in front of her, diving over a mound of debris that was gathered in the corner.

Letting out a flurry of fire from her pistols, Three-Twelve dove behind a more solid wall that stood just barely off-center of the same area. None of the shots landed, but they served their purpose, keeping her sister occupied until she could figure out what her next move was.

She tried to fake another move by popping around the corner and firing a few shots, but Four Fifty-one did not fall for it, reserving her sniper shot. A different tactic may be in order.

"Come on Four Fifty-one! Two shots the entire match?"

There was no delay in the response to the taunt.

"Quality not quantity, dear sister!"

That told her everything she needed to know, mainly that Four Fifty-one had not moved anywhere.

She leapt out in a straight line and rolled towards the debris, opening fire with one pistol. This placed her in a precarious position, without cover. However, if the gamble paid off, then this would be over shortly.

Four Fifty-one took the bait, spun over the top and aimed.

Three-Twelve let loose with the other pistol, which she had been shakily aiming in the general area where she thought her sister might show.

Five shots out of the twenty or so that were squeezed off landed. They hit her and fizzled out.

A voice boomed over them.

"Match over. Three-Twelve wins."

She jumped to her feet and pointed one of her pistols at Four Fifty-one.

"Ha! Got you! Finally."

Her sister smiled and moved around the debris, tossing the rifle to the ground.

"That you did. About time. I was getting tired of winning."

"Maybe I'll let you win at hand-to-hand combat sometime."

"I'm getting better. I'm sure I can best you in a fisticuffs if it came down to it."

Three-Twelve tossed her pistols down and moved towards the door located inside one of the outer walls.

"Maybe. Perhaps you need the right motivation. Don't want to give you too much, though, or you'll just take me down with a swift punch and toss me out an airlock."

Four Fifty-one let out a quick laugh as they walked out of the holodeck and into the hallway.

"Don't do that. I'm sure I could come up with something."

"Perhaps I'll just throw myself out into space and save you the trouble."

She shook her head and looked at Three-Twelve.

"Don't joke about that. I enjoy having you around..."

The two stopped at a juncture in the corridor where they had to part ways.

"...most of the time."

Three-Twelve nodded.

"Yes, I enjoy having you around most of the time as well."

Four Fifty-one gave her a quick hug and moved towards her quarters.

"Again tomorrow?"

She rubbed the shoulder that she had landed on.

"Tomorrow."

"But I'm ready. I am!"

Seventy-one fidgeted nervously, looking around at the uniformed members of Sigma. Three-Twelve stood at the front, with the three others flanking her. They had the appearance of a secret society, their dark apparel blending seamlessly with the dim room.

Her eyes darted around between the others in the squad, searching desperately for some sign of an answer on their faces. As was commonplace with the Liberated, there were none to be found.

They had to tell her yes, they just had to. She'd done everything Three-Twelve had asked of her, following them around like a dog or a maid. No, like a slave.

For years she had laid prostrate before them, hoping that one day they would wrap their arms around her and pull her in. She would leave, if there was somewhere she could go to get what she needed, but nowhere had this. In her previous Clutch, she had finally felt accepted, needed and maybe even loved.

Every moment before she was reconnected and every moment afterwards she had felt lost. No matter how she formed words, they fell apart, relationships crumbling under the weight of social awkwardness. She was not like the humans.

She was MACO, Sigma, Liberated just like them. Even though she had stood with them throughout the last four years, still she remained an outsider. Their Prime, Three-Twelve, gave every indication that she wanted her in, but always cited the danger of adding a fifth person. On some level that was true, on another, a lie.

The truth was that she didn't know what the truth was. Seventy-one had followed everything they had asked for to the letter, made her intentions clear and withholding nothing. It may kill her to join them, but she could not stand being excluded any longer.

Three-Twelve took a step towards her, putting but a few inches between them, and brushed a lock of hair over Seventy-one's ear.

"You have been very patient, very obedient. We want you, we do."

"Then you will add me to you?"

"Unfortunately, the final say is not mine. The Captain will need to be convinced that the risk is necessary. However, I have some sway with that particular officer. I will approach him about it."

Seventy-one's eyes widened with the same speed of the grin crossing her face. She grabbed Three-Twelve's outstretched hand and gave it a squeeze, pulling it to her chest.

"Thank you. I will serve well."

"Of course you will. Remember though, that it is still dangerous. The Captain has every right to refuse the request, but we will accept you should that come to pass."

Three-Twelve tugged her hand free and gestured to the door.

"You may go."

Seventy-one gave a half-bow and left.

_You want her._

She turned around to face Seventeen.

_Yes._

_ What will she add? Skills are redundant._

_ Same as always. Cannot string her along forever._

Twenty moved in closer, interjecting himself.

_May be a liability. _

Three-Twelve shook her head.

_ She is weak and seeks inclusion. Will be easily subjugated._

_Further?_

_ Further._

Eight moved quietly toward the exit, giving a nod to the others.

_ Have an appointment with Engineer Darren. _

_ For what purpose?_

_ Believes personal cloaking implant can be adapted for Starfleet tactical equipment._

_ We agreed that we would not be submitting ourselves to experimentation. _

She stopped in the open door and placed a hand on the door frame.

_ Non-invasive. Simple scan. _

_ Fine. Go._

Eight turned slowly and walked outside. Three-Twelve turned back to Seventeen.

_I do not approve of this._

_ Curiosity. Something humans do._

_ Fear they may find a weakness in us. May tap into our Clutch._

_ Fear. Another thing humans do._

Three-Twelve shot him a vicious glare, to which he responded with a self-satisfied smile. He could see the sudden flash of anger in her eyes, but he knew she would not act on it. It would only prove him right. Anger was something humans did. They were better than that.

Eight adjusted her collar and straightened her uniform prior to heading into Engineering. The two-floor structure was gigantic, with a large four-chambered warp core taking up the center of the room.

Darren waved to her and pointed back towards the lab, taking a second to finish a conversation before heading there himself. He met up with her inside, picking up a tricorder on his way to the table she was standing near.

"Good Evening Ms. Eight. How are you today?"

She forced a smile, trying to be as pleasant as she could.

"I am well, and you Lieutenant Darren?"

"I am doing pretty well. Ready for my shift to be over so I can head out. I'm glad you decided to help me, I haven't been able to get the others to be very cooperative at all."

He flipped open the tricorder and ran it over her body as he continued to talk.

"It would be great to get some of this Borg technology into a personal kit. The Collective have some impressive technology, but where they really excel is in sticking a whole lot of it in a tiny place."

"A stealth kit that performs like my implants would be useful."

"You said it. Would love to get my hands on Three-Twelve's shield implant. I've had a look at Four Fifty-one's, but hers isn't near as robust as her sister's."

"Three-Twelve's system is much more complex."

"And compact, too. The smallest personal shields we have still require you to be wearing a suit."

Eight smiled by reflex this time. This conversation was going so well, just as she had hoped it would. She had been looking for a way to approach Darren, and nearly jumped at the chance when he asked to look at her personal cloaking device and shield.

"It is not desirable to be probed as though we were some artifact."

"I completely understand. That's why I give you a chance to say no."

Darren bobbed his head back and forth a few times while he read over the data in the tricorder.

"Just wish they wouldn't say no so much. So, how do you activate this implant?"

"I tell it to."

With a soft fizzle, Eight disappeared, leaving only the vague outline of a person in the air. She looked to be made of clear glass with white around the edges. If she crouched right in front of you, you wouldn't know she was in the room.

He scanned her before she returned to a visible state, shaking his head as he did.

"Unbelievable. You know, we've seen other races with similar technology, but the Borg have really got it down. And completely self-powered."

"Bio-thermal."

"I'm seeing the photon distortion field that you create is actually on your skin."

"Yes."

Eight turned her back to him and lifted up her shirt. Underneath were two sets of six evenly spaced metal squares running vertically down her back on either side of her spine.

"There is a nano-fiber grown into the skin. The plates charge the skin which wraps all incoming light within a centimeter of the surface around the body, even the eyes."

"Should be easy enough to create a suit to mimic that. How do you see? Wouldn't the light be wrapped around your eyes?"

"There is a small area on the ocular implant that is unable to be charged."

The door opened and Melissa walked in, holding a small lunch pail of some sort. She smiled as she approached them.

"Thought that since I'm going on break and you're leaving, you might have lunch with me."

She pointed to the Liberated with the hiked up shirt.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

Darren smiled back, sheepishly.

"Not a thing. Just looking at this stealth implant."

Eight pulled her clothing back down and turned to face the Lieutenant.

"Are we finished?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

The conversation stopped there, as the ship dimmed and the red alert signs started to flash. The siren soon followed, blaring loudly. Eight was already gone from the room before the two other officers had fully realized what was happening. They took a brief glance at each other and took off out the door as well.

Three-Twelve flexed her black glove as she unholstered her pistol with the other hand. It was a sign of how fast they could move. The armor itself did not even have time to settle before they were on their way.

The words RED ALERT were flashing in their usual red as they moved, crouched close to the walls. Maneuvering was difficult, since people were running against the path of her Clutch. Not because the crew knew where the danger was, but because they were sure that it wasn't in the opposite direction of where the MACO were headed.

A man in a blue-lined medical uniform ran up to them, stopped and squatted when they met. He rested on his knee for support, talking down into the floor as he fought to catch his breath.

"There's a bunch of drones down there."

"Have any of the Starfleet security forces arrived?"

"I did see one, but..."

Three-Twelve grabbed his collar and pulled him up to her in one truculent motion. He threw one hand out to keep himself from slamming face-first into her shoulder.

"But, what?"

"His uniform was all wrong..."

"What was wrong with the uniform? How many are there?"

His face went blank.

She considered giving him another forceful shake but quickly decided that this was getting her nowhere. A more tactful approach might be more efficient. It was time to take a page from her sister's book.

"What's your name, officer?"

"S-Steven."

She looked down at his hand. A small Borg implant resided on his wrist, just above the thumb. He noticed that she saw it and looked away. When he did, a star-shaped implant could be seen at the corner of his eye, on the edge of the pupil.

"Steven?"  
"Previously Seven. I changed it to Steven when-"

Of course he changed it, so he could fit in with the humans. His type made her sick, but she stopped herself from giving him another good shake and continued on with the questioning.

"Seven?"

"Yes."

"Number of targets. Report."

Steven's blank stare continued, but he relaxed and let instinct take over. She guessed that he had not spent much time in the Collective, certainly not as much as her, but it was enough to illicit the needed response with the right phrasing and force.

"Twelve drones, at least."

"Resistance?"

"One security officer. Odd uniform."

Three-Twelve relinquished her grip but did not break eye contact.

"Odd. Clarify."

"Unknown. I did not get to look at them for very long. I triggered the intruder alert and ran."

"Return with the others."

Steven nodded and took off, disappearing around a corner.

They moved cautiously up the corridor, checking consoles for any sign of Borg technology. Three-Twelve looked to Seventeen.

_Audio?_

He shook his head.

_No. Standard filter applied. No anomalous noises._

Jameson's voice came over her headset as her Squad continued down the hallway. He sounded worried, but she could hear the confusion in his voice as well. It was a concern she shared. There had been no Borg detected in the area for hours. Then, with no ships in sight, drone boarding parties were coming aboard.

Her suit's communicator chirped as it came on, Jamesons's voice not far behind.

"Anything Sergent Three-Twelve?"

"Negative. We are not detecting any Borg, nor are there any signs they have ever been here."

"Someone tripped it by accident?"

"Negative. An Ensign said that he had seen them attacking a Security officer."

There was a pause in his response. The Captain was most likely speaking to another bridge officer. After a few seconds of silence he came back.

"Security says they're not down that way yet. Also, we're not seeing that anyone has discharged a weapon."

When her squad had reached the end of the corridor, they stood, taking glances at each other. She could feel that they were all thinking the same thing, mostly confusion. While she talked to Jameson, she ordered them to holster their weapons.

"That is what we are seeing as well. There are no drones here."

"Alright, stand down Red Alert."

"I would suggest that the medical officer, Steven, have a mental health evaluation."

"Maybe, but if this keeps up I'll be sending the whole crew there."

The security officers appeared around the corner just as the lights came back up. Three-Twelve shrugged as she made her way through them.

"As usual, you were late to the party."

The Chief of Security tucked the rifle under his arm and gave her a stale harrumph.

"Doesn't look like there was a party to be had."

"If that wasn't the third Red Alert in as many hours, I'd think the crew was just suffering from the jitters."

Jameson turned around to look at the seated Four Fifty-one. She felt a need to reply, even though she had nothing of much value to add.

"This is not the first time we have run this patrol."

"True, but we're out of things to scan for. What else could it be?"

Before the Commander got a chance to respond, Ensign Anagnostou interrupted them from the Science Station.

"Captain, there's an anti-proton nebula directly in front of us."

He turned back towards the viewscreen.

"Well that isn't supposed to be here."

"No, sir."

Four Fifty-one stood and joined him at the center of the bridge. The purplish-red mass was gigantic, filling nearly the entire screen in all four directions. She turned back to Anagnostou.

"Source?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know. But I would guess that it's artificial. It's dissipating rapidly."

"How long until we can travel through?"

"A few hours, maybe more."

Jameson started to walk back towards her station, leaning on the console as she did her work. He could tell he was making her uncomfortable, but he needed to see the data for himself. You'd think after all these years, she'd stop acting so nervous.

"How long to go around?"

"A, uh, a little under an hour."

"Then that's what we'll do. H'Soe, plot in a course and take us around the quickest way, maximum warp. This place is starting to give me the creeps."

The Caitian called back a reaffirming "Aye-aye" before starting the course correction process.

When the two had taken their chairs, Jameson leaned back over towards Four Fifty-one, finger on his chin. He waited until the Commander had properly seated herself before engaging her.

"Something strange is going on here."

She nodded in the affirmative.

"A likely conjecture would be that we are being herded somewhere."

"It does seem a little convenient. All of this space and someone just happens to create an anti-proton nebula right in our path, that lasts just long enough to make us go around."

"Suspicious, however, not someone. As unlikely as it sounds, I would say Borg."

"The Collective laying traps? Now that's a stretch."

She tapped a few buttons on the panel between them, bringing up an analysis of the nebula and its location.

"Crew members report seeing drones attacking the ship, and Starfleet officers fighting them. Then we come across an artificially-made anti-proton nebula, decidedly Borg technology, in previously Collective-occupied space."

"Unless someone is trying to make us think that it's the Borg."

Four Fifty-one gave a quick tilt of her head, acknowledging his point.

"I guess we'll have to wait until we get another nudge."

"Distress signal coming in, Captain," Petty Officer Weers announced from the Conn, "It's extremely weak."

Jameson wagged his finger at Four Fifty-one before standing to address Weers. He folded his arms and spoke in a nearly monotone voice.

"On speakers."

"Can't. There's not enough to make out a message from. We skimmed past the signal's maximum range before it attenuates completely. It's just a general distress call. Really old, too."

"Old?"

She shrugged.

"They're using a frequency that hasn't seen use in Starfleet ships for over a decade."

Four Fifty-one was busy on the console beside her, answering Jameson's next question before he asked it.

"There have been numerous engagements here over the last twenty years or so. All of them clashes with the Borg. However, there is not enough data in the signal to place it with any of the ships."

"Well, protocol is protocol. Plot a course and take us there."

"Aye, sir," H'Soe responded as Jameson turned back towards his chair. He had just about reached it when the abnormally quiet Ensign Brett spoke up.

"Captain."

"What now?" he huffed.

"There's a ship on approach. Federation."

"What in the world are they doing out there?"

"They're hailing us."

"On screen."

The images flickered a few times and settled on a woman in a blue-lined Science uniform, with no rank insignia on her collar. She gave a quick wave and started in immediately.

"Captain Jameson. This is a surprise. I'm assuming you're chasing the same thing we are."

"The distress signal."

"Yes. We think it may be related to the reason we're experiencing such disturbances in the area."

"You've been having issues with ghost drones on your ship?"

She pointed back over her shoulder with her thumb. However, the way the view was constructed, there was no way to tell what she was trying to indicate.

"Same, but most of my small crew is Liberated, so sometimes it's hard to tell."

The woman laughed and then pointed again, but this time off to her side.

"I have someone here who's been working on the problem since he first noticed it. I'm sure he'll have a lot more to say on it than me."

She stepped aside and a Liberated took his place. Jameson crossed his arms and smirked when he saw him.

"Well, now there's someone I haven't seen in a long time."

The drone ignored Jameson and looked directly at the seated First Officer. He gave an excited wave, which forced a smile out of her.

"Four Fifty-one."

She stood and waved back.

"Two-Twenty."

"This one believes it has some information you may be interested in."

"We'll beam you over to the staff room."

"Actually, this unit would prefer if it were just the Captain and the sisters."

Four Fifty-one looked at Jameson who gave her an affirmative gesture of his hand. She returned to Two-Twenty and smiled again.

"We would be glad to have you."

Three-Twelve pulled the armor off of her arm and placed it on the table. Normally, she would put these back in the armory, but it seemed to be a waste of time when almost certainly another false alert would sound soon.

She had taken the time to stow her pistols, but she would've kept those too if the Chief of Security hadn't been hounding her the entire way. The man was an annoyance.

Awoken by the alert, Three ran towards her, a small toy house in her arms. Something bounced around inside, but what it was only she knew.

"Mom, you goin' to work?"

"No. Just returned."

"Did you get the bad people?"  
"There were none. Someone just thought they saw some."

Three gave an "oh" before latching onto her mother's leg.

"The noise woke me up and so I played with my toys."

"And you weren't scared?"

"I wasn't scared. If'n I see any, I'll just tell them- I'll just tell them that my mom punches bad guys for work and they'll, um, be so afraid that they'll run away."

Three-Twelve couldn't help but smile while she pulled the second arm's plating off and released the latches on her chest piece. She set both on the table with a thunk, ready to be worn again at a moment's notice.

Though supposedly temperature controlled, the suit was always hot, and left her sweating after even a short run. It wasn't so bad this time though, with a few small sweat stains on her tanktop being the only signs of the heat she had endured.

Wiggling a tiny foot into the bottommost plate near the ankle, Three started to hoist herself up her mother's pants, using the armor like rungs to a ladder. She still held the small toy house off to one side, precariously moving up one step at a time.

Three-Twelve looked down at her. When their eyes met, she stopped climbing.

"What did I tell you about climbing my suit, Three?"

The child dropped back to the floor, clutching the toy to her chest and looking away.

"You said- you said not to do that anymore."

"That's right. Now stop."

"But I wantchu pick up."

"Then ask."

Three held her arms up. The toy house rattled as she held it aloft.

"_Please_ pick up."

Three-Twelve did so, hoisting the child up and holding her with a forearm anchored underneath. Three wrapped an arm around her neck, laying her head on her mother's shoulder, like a makeshift pillow. They made a brief stop by the toybox, so she could deposit the house and then moved into her room.

Three was looking right at her the entire way, eyes similar to her father's, the shape some middleground between the two parents. It wasn't something she didn't already know, but with each blink it became more real.

Her mouth was unlike her mother's either, the sides laying flatly rather than curving a dull point, poking the cheeks in contempt. When the child smiled, like she was doing now, she looked just like her father. And she hated her for it.

Before Three, that grin had never had anything but pain and anguish associated with it, but here she was, caring for it because it was her own. She brushed the teeth behind that rancid smile and wiped the tears from those putrid cheeks.

The more she hated Three, the more she hated herself. The girl was so innocent, so unaware of every laceration she tore into her mother's heart with each casual look of happiness.

Three-Twelve had wrapped herself in the lie, but the threads at the edge of the cloth were starting to come undone. The show that she had been putting on for years was falling apart and it was all that could be done to hold the curtains up a little bit longer, play the part for a bit more.

She laid Three down in her bed and pulled the covers over her.

"Mom?"

"Yes."

"Am I Lib-ated?"

"What do you mean?"

Three rolled over to one side, grabbed her favorite stuffed animal and came back.

"My friend Mark, he says- he says I'm Lib-ated, but I don't look like it. He says- he says your Lib-ated but daddy isn't. Daddy said that was right. Um, am I Lib-ated?"

"Which one do you want to be? Or do you want to be both?"

She thought for a second, looking around the room with her mouth open while she did. The lids on her eyes began to droop, belieing her exhaustion.

"I guess, um, I want to be like all the other kids."

"You want to be human."

Three nodded her head and drifted back into sleep. Three-Twelve frowned, patting her daughter's head as she stood. She spoke to no one as she made her way out of the room.

"Then that is what you are."


	9. Chapter 9: Ingression

_All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forgot. _

~G. K. Chesterton

_**-9-**_

_Ingression_

The door opened and closed with a swish as Jameson entered, taking up a spot beside his First Officer in front of the large screen. Three-Twelve stood off to the side in her suit, which she seemed to be wearing constantly as of late. Not that he minded. The black armor hung on her well, emphasizing the right curves but giving her the air of a vicious fighter. While he always thought that the MACO armor looked undeniably un-Federation, he could not find fault with its craftsmanship.

Three-Twelve glanced at him and quickly shifted back to her brother's work, taking care to show how hard she was ignoring him. She fought back a grin that always tried to surface when reminded that she still had his attention.

"And the numbers are grouped into six sets, consisting three digits each," Two-Twenty said as he turned towards his two sisters. He didn't seem to notice that the Captain had joined them.

"The message, when it does appear, is so garbled or attenuated that this unit has not been able to determine its actual contents. There are three signals total, overlapped, further complicating the decryption."

Four Fifty-one stepped forward, looking at the data streaming from one side of the screen to the other. The notes that cocooned the signal consisted mostly of conjecture as to the purpose and contents of them. For over four years of work, Two-Twenty had surprisingly little to show.

"Do you have any idea what they might contain?"

He tapped the screen and turned to her.

"They are most definitely Borg in origin. The first is a carrier of some kind, containing a time-stamp and little else. The second is an encrypted data channel."

"What kind of data?"

"It is difficult to tell. However, it appears to be a schematic guide on building some piece of technology from the molecular level up. This is what attracted the attention of Starfleet Intelligence."

Two-Twenty waited a second for any further questions before continuing.

"The third is telemetry data of some kind, which is what we were using to track down this location before we got the distress signal."

Three-Twelve leaned over onto the wall, crossing her arms. She huffed, speaking in hurried tones.

"So, what? What does this mean? What do we do?"

"We can tell two things from the available data: One, judging by the time-stamps on the carrier, the signal did not originate in our time. Considering the dated nature of the distress signal, most likely sometime in the past. Second, it was meant to be heard by someone other than the Borg."

Four Fifty-one came in quickly on the end of his sentence.

"Then, we can't pursue this. The Borg sent this signal so we would pick it up, to lure us. We're most definitely flying right into a trap."

Jameson shook his head.

"Doesn't matter. We still have to investigate. Regardless of whether or not I'm curious as to what they're up to, which I am, protocol dictates that we respond to the distress signal."

Two-Twenty looked to Four Fifty-one and buttressed the Captain's argument.

"The U.S.S. Fokhal will continue to explore whether or not the Áo Dài escorts us. The time displacements alone warrant investigation."

"That's what's causing the Borg to appear on the ship?"

"Correct. They're occurring in random patches throughout this sector of space, concentrating anywhere there is a ripple in space, like near a planet."

"...or in a starship at high warp."

"Yes. As we get closer to the epicenter, they will get longer. It appears as though it only works one way. Since we are causing the ripple, we see them but they do not see us."

Three-Twelve asked the next obvious question.

"Are they a threat?"

"What we are seeing are the photons of light reflecting off of them as they move in and out of our time hundreds of times a second. If they flicker slowly enough or at the right speed to be detected by the human eye, then we see them. Those with optical implants, however, will-"

She interrupted him, waving her hand back and forth impatiently.

"So no."

"No, only microscopic particles can traverse the gap."

Jameson made his way to the door.

"Then we have our direction. Set a course and take us there. Since we have a few hours until we reach the distress signal, I'll be in my quarters."

Four Fifty-one acknowledge him.

"Yes, sir."

He stopped just outside the corridor, motioning to Three-Twelve.

"Sergent, I believe you are technically off-duty right now as well."

She pushed herself off of the wall with a shrug and headed with him out into the hallway.

When they had left, Two-Twenty walked up to Four Fifty-one, stopped in front of her and held out his arms.

"This unit requests a hug."

She laughed and gave him one, with a few extra squeezes thrown in to show she meant it. When he let go, he turned towards the exit, meeting with the escort of Security that followed him back to his quarters.

Four Fifty-one took the first right out of the conference room door and headed down towards the rear of the ship. Usually, the area was a bustle of activity, but it now seemed deadly quiet. It was possible that she had simply come at an off time and soon another officer would appear from around the corner.

Though irregular, this was not unheard of, especially on a ship of this size. There were sections of the Áo Dài that did not see anyone for days or weeks at a time.

She stopped suddenly when the smell of burning silicon met her. There was no smoke in the air, but the stench was unmistakable, wafting around her like an omen.

Off to the side, she caught a glimpse of person dressed in black walking steadily away. Though only seen for an instant, their gait belied their origins. It was the slow, steady shuffle of a Borg drone, heading disinterestedly to their next assignment.

Four Fifty-one moved to chase after them, bringing her clip to a near-run as she rounded corner after corner, narrowly missing the drone each time in the maze that was the corridors of the vessel. Her Imager quickly gave up trying to map her path as the hallways became less and less familiar. The red and gray carpet of her ship gave way to one with a more blue-ish hue.

When she moved into a hall that lead down a long series of windows, she slowed. The drone was standing at the center, staring out at the battle outside. A dozen or more Starfleet ships, from a bygone era, spun in circles around a Borg Cube. A Sphere hung far in the background, nearly undetectable with the eye, as though patiently waiting for the outcome.

The firefight was immense, and the ship rumbled as it took another pass. Her concentration, though, was on the drone, since she had made the connection a few seconds before her Imager did.

"Two Forty-five?"

He stood still as stone, and after an eternity, turned his head to her.

"451 of 933, you are not in the proper area for disconnection."

"You can see me?"

A third voice came from behind her. It was one she recognized, but was still foreign to her.

"The area is inaccessible. This unit is disconnected. Will power down here."

When Four Fifty-one turned to see who it was, she tripped over herself, trying to get away as fast as she could. She fell to the ground and scooted herself backwards to the wall in a panic. It was her, but as a drone.

She'd never seen herself prior to her current form, the wires and technology twisting itself around her body like a suit. Her head was bald and white, a multitude of implants covering every visible surface. It was a small wonder that she had survived the surgery to remove them.

The two drones went limp, and toppled over like dolls, hitting the ground with a thud. 451 of 933 landed next to Four Fifty-one, her head just inches from the corridor wall.

She reached out slowly to touch her own face, but was interrupted by another hand grabbing her forearm. Looking up, she saw Steven kneeling down beside her, her arm in his grip.

"You saw them, too?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and looked back down. They were gone.

"Yes."

He helped her to her feet, placing his arms behind his back after she had regained her footing. The wall where the windows once were was now solid, excluding a few doors to a cargo area. The carpet had also returned to the red and gray of the Sovereign-class.

"Yeah, I've seen that before," he said while giving a uncommitted nod to the Commander.

"You have?"  
"Well, not that particular one, but I saw a drone do the same thing a while back. Beamed in and collapsed. Like they were being dropped off to be found."

Four Fifty-one walked in his general direction, slowly making her way back to her own destination. She tried to force the shaking in her hands to stop by gripping them tightly in front of her. The result was mixed.

"You have seen a lot of these?"

"A couple times a day, more frequently here lately. It gets easier, but I still haven't gotten used to it. While we're on the subject, can I ask a favor, Commander?"

"What?"

"Now that you've seen them as well, will you please cancel my compulsory mental health evaluation."

She stopped just inside the turbolift after it whisked open.

"Of course, for a favor as well. If you see anything worth noting, please tell me and me alone."

"I will. Are we trying to determine something specific? Such as what ship it is?"

"No. I think that has been made clear already. The question is why here, why now and why us."

Steven nodded, turned and walked away as the lift door shut and took Four Fifty-one to the Bridge.

The table shook as it took the weight of Jameson being thrust back upon it, followed quickly by Three-Twelve. She raked her arm across the elderly paper books that were there, knocking them to the floor. A few of them opened up to pictures of various gods from old earth religions, their subject matter. His voice was rushed as he pulled himself back, making room for her advance.

Advance she did, grabbing his uniform with her free hand and pulling it towards her, like he would suddenly change his mind and try to get away. He wasn't going anywhere and both of them knew it.

"How long do we have?"  
"About an hour until I have to go get Three."

"Longer than we've had together in a while."

"Too long a while."

Three-Twelve kept climbing up him, pushing them both back to the wall that the table was braced against. Her armored suit was cumbersome, but she knew Jameson liked it so she didn't shed it as quickly as she wanted.

As usual, she was the aggressor, nearly forcing herself on him, but she thought he liked that, too. She hoped so, since she knew no other way to approach anything but blunt and forceful. He was what she wanted and she went for it.

Three-Twelve paused for a moment, pulling back.

"I need to talk to you about Seventy-one."  
"Now?"

"I just remembered, and I rarely see you."

Jameson huffed and pulled himself up so he was resting on his elbows.

"Okay, what?"

"I need you to give the okay to add her to my Squad. To connect her."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Yes, but she's agreed to it and knows the risks."

He weaved his head back and forth, thinking and mumbling to himself. After a few seconds, he looked back at her.

"Why now?"

"Seventy-one is ready, and she's not as useful to me as she would be connected."

"And all this? Is this just to butter me up?"  
Three-Twelve leaned in and gave him a deep passionate kiss, and released when she felt that the point had been made. She left him eyes closed and both of them smiling.

"This is not a weapon."

Jameson opened his eyes and looked at her.

"I will talk to Dr. Nell. In then end I will go with his recommendation."

She returned to him, giving longer and more potent kisses. Grabbing his hand, she placed it on the release for the lower half of the armor, which he promptly activated. With a snap she could feel it loosen.

"Hi mom and dad!"

Both of them jumped up with a start, Three-Twelve just barely grabbing and re-engaging the belt piece that held the bottom part of her suit on. She was a little slow and a piece of leg armor hit the floor with a thud.

Jameson shot up as well, pulling his shirt back down so forcefully that had it been made of a weaker cloth, he probably would have ripped it off.

Three was well inside the room before the two shaken adults had righted themselves. Neither spoke as she put her backpack on the table and walked off towards her room like nothing was amiss.

Three-Twelve spoke as she picked up the fallen legpiece.

"Why are you home?"

"Mrs. Rotchester, she, she wasn't there today. The substitute mister, uh, I don't remember, he dropped us all off early."

When Three had disappeared behind the door to her room, Three-Twelve turned to look at the disheveled Jameson. He appeared to be confused and lost.

She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to her, giving him a last kiss before releasing him.

"Don't think I'm done with you, yet, Captain."

He gave one of his patented sheepish smiles and stuck up his nose in a posh way.

"Why dear, I would never even dream of such a thing."

"So when do I get my Tactical kit back? You've had it for at least a day now."

Melissa laid her head on her folded hands in front of the mess of parts on Darren's workbench. It was a stark contrast. The entire rest of the lab looked to have never been used, but the area around the bench seemed to be littered with every imaginable piece of technology in the universe.

Darren flipped the small device over and slid the glowing cylindrical power core out of it.

"These belts use an A-1 core right?"

"Yes."

"I'm upgrading it to an A-2. You'll need more power if it's going to work right."

"If what's going to work right?"

He turned the device over again after popping in the new power core and reattached the back panel. It clicked together and hummed to life.

Lieutenant Raleigh waved her hands in front of him, trying to get his attention.

"Hello? Are you going to answer any of my questions?"

"Yes, but only that one right now. Here put this back on."

She took the kit piece from Darren and placed it into its slot on her belt. He pointed quickly to it while he reached under his workbench for something.

"Now, press the blue button."

Melissa did, and was treated to a bit of an electrical flash proceeding out from it and around her body.

"Okay."

"Feel any different?"  
"No."

"Good. Now stand still."

Darren came up from behind his bench with a small handheld phaser, pointed it at her and fired. She screamed and brought her hands up to shield her face.

"What are you- NO!"

The blast connected with Melissa's body and rippled around her limbs like a stone hitting a pond, the waves proceeding out from the impact point and swiftly dissipating. The display lasted less than a second as everything returned to normal, shaking Lieutenant and all.

She wasted no time after she realized the danger had passed, half-jumping over the workbench and punching Darren in the arm as hard as she could.

"You jerk, that could've hurt me."

Darren pulled back and comforted his arm.

"No the shield worked just as it should have and the blast was really low power. Oh, and ow."

"You deserved that and probably more, but I'm feeling generous. So I can wear this?"

"I'll have to work on making a design that can be replicated easily, but yes. The whole security team can wear these."

He pointed to the device on her belt.

"If I could have it back so I can get working on that I'd appreciate it."

Melissa popped the shield generator off and tossed it onto the table. It clattered a few times before coming to a stop near the opposite edge.

Darren held his hands out as a cradle should it fall.

"Be careful! That's the only one I've got."

"If you're really thinking about giving that out to Security officers it should probably be able to withstand more than that."

He picked it up and nodded.

"Probably right."

Melissa placed herself next to him and rubbed his arm.

"Sorry about hitting you. I was just really angry."

"It's fine. You have a mean right cross."

"Yeah, well, part of my job requires me to punch people sometimes. Occasionally I have to put Engineering officers in their place."

She shrugged and turned her attention back to the shield in Darren's hands.

"So, what spawned this whole project?"

"Well, I've actually been working on this for a couple of years. It's been slow going since Three-Twelve hasn't let me so much as touch her or the others in the MACO unit."

"This is like the shields that MACO wear in their suits."

"No. It turns out that Federation personal shielding technology was going in the totally opposite direction from what we should have. We were years away from realizing that we were doing it all wrong."

Darren slid the case off and started to copy the schematics to a datapad he had picked up while talking.

"Personal shields would've probably remained bulky and unusable by regular personnel for the next decade if we hadn't come across the Borg implant versions."

"I could see every officer in Starfleet using these some day."

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves, but I do agree the base design has far-reaching possibilities. You know, besides protecting my favorite Security officers."

Melissa smiled and leaned on Darren.

"Well thanks for looking out for me."

"Always."

Dr. Nell gave one more scan over the five reclined drones in his Sickbay before returning the medical tricorder to the nurse. He turned to Three-Twelve, who was lying on her back next to Seventy-one. Both had the fingers of their right hand resting on a pressure pad beside their beds.

"Okay, we're going to try to ease you guys into this, connecting her in one at a time. If you feel any pain, press down on the pad next to you and we'll sever the connection."

"Understood."

He pointed to Seventy-one, the reservations he had about the situation coming through clearly in his voice.

"Especially you. I'll keep an eye on everything from here. Are we ready?"

She readjusted herself on the bed and gave a nervous "ready."

The doctor gave a disapproving glance to the nurse as he replied.

"Sure you are."

He tapped a few buttons and started mumbling to himself, indicating to the nurse who was being connected at what time. They went to each one as he called them out checking vitals and reporting back.

"Eight."

"Vitals good."

"Twenty."

"Good."

"Seventeen."

Three-Twelve looked at Seventy-one. She had a wild stare on her face, her eyes moving around the ceiling as she took in all the new information. Her mouth vacillated between smiling and frowning as her hands clenched and flexed in rapid succession.

After a few seconds her legs started to bend at the knee, slowly rubbing against each other as though she were trying to kick off a blanket. Her breathing had become erratic, with forced inhales and choppy exhales.

"Three-Twelve."

"G-"

Three-Twelve didn't hear the nurse finish as she was immersed in that feeling that she had almost forgotten. The new mind reached out for her so she snared it and reeled it in.

Seventy-one fought for a second, mostly in blind confusion, as she struggled with that which was her birthright. The battle was short, since Three-Twelve had the only thing she wanted: acceptance. She used it as a lure to bring in the new drone.

And when Seventy-one had let down her guard, the Prime subjected her to her new Collective and consumed her. The monster grew its teeth and sunk them into the waiting victim, rending her from herself, pulling her apart and rebuilding her under her new ruler. The ruler was now one, but many.

Three-Twelve pulled every secret from her mind, explored every dark corner and wielded that as the knife she used to carve up her newest addition. The euphoria of her task hit her like a narcotic, the monster compelling her to slice deeper and harder until nothing remained of the poor shy creature that had once been.

The joy receded, and the creature went back satiated, but hungrier still than it had ever been. There was no denying it now, no suppressing the urge that had been woven into her very being. Three-Twelve was built to destroy, that much had always been clear, but she was also made to create.

There was beauty to be found in the mangled corpse of what was once Seventy-one, for from this cadaver of a weak-willed woman, she would create a machine of efficiency, power and terror. The others agreed, moving in and tearing at Seventy-one until nothing but the naked essence of her remained. They would finish the job without her.

Three-Twelve opened her eyes and found herself staring at the ceiling. She could feel the wide smile on her face, her cheeks almost hurting with the vociferousness with which she wore it.

A few fingers had also found their way between her legs, which she removed as quickly as she dropped her smile.

Dr. Nell shouted at her from the other the room.

"How are you doing Three-Twelve?"

"I am perfect," she responded in a soft, caring voice.

Three-Twelve rolled her head towards Seventy-one and met her gaze. The drone had an almost blank stare, but with comfort and acceptance around the edges.

The doctor asked her next.

"And you, Seventy-one?"  
She did not not move her eyes from her Prime.

"I am perfect as well."

Three-Twelve reached out and lightly caressed her cheek like a lover, her voice as soothing to match.

"You are now."

Four Fifty-one entered Three-Twelve's quarters, looking among the disheveled items of clothing and toys for any sign of her sister. She appeared out of a side room carrying some piece of equipment under her arm which she dropped on the table.

Three-Twelve looked at her, but did not say anything.

"I see that adding Seventy-one didn't hurt you too much."

"No, I am fine. She is as well. Better than fine."

Four Fifty-one nodded and took a few steps towards her.

"So I hear."

Three-Twelve stopped what she was doing and turned to look at her sister.

"Is that why you are here? I would guess that information was in the official medical report."

"I just wanted to talk. I've noticed that in the past few months, you've been a little more abrasive than usual."

Four Fifty-one forced out a fake smile to soften the blow, but they both knew that it wasn't true. Jameson's favorite phrase to call her was "a hard woman," which was about as accurate as you could get and still be civil. However, in true Three-Twelve fashion, she wore it like a badge of pride.

"I apologize if my demeanor of late has been more uncomplimentary than usual. I have been mired in many things."

"Like what?"

"Are you going fix them for me?"

"I could try."

She held out what was in her hand like a shiv.

"Is the great messenger of Themis going to spread her wings and absolve me of my sin? Or are would you bring justice?"

"What is that supposed to mean? I'm not here to judge."

Three-Twelve shook her head and tossed the item in her hand on the table with a clang. She did not seem concerned if it was broken.

"You are, even if you do not. You are a paragon, always above it all, aren't you?"

"I'm just trying to be your sister."

"So, you've decided to start doing that, now. I think you're too late."

"It may be, but at least let me try. Tell me what it is."

Four Fifty-one attempted to grab her shoulder, but Three-Twelve was too fast, knocking her hand out of the way before it made contact.

"Nothing that would concern you. Some things must be kept from everyone."

"Even Jameson and me?"

"Yes. We're not all able to glide so gracefully through life as you."

"I'm sure you have me confused with someone else. There is nothing graceful about me."

"Everything about you is graceful and everyone sees it. So poised and dignified. Even my own child likes you more than me."

Four Fifty-one moved a little bit closer to her sister, trying to bring herself into Three-Twelve's personal space.

"That isn't true. Three loves you."

"Sometimes I doubt if there is any love between us at all. I have compounded error upon error, and I fear there is no way I can fix any of it."

"What error?"

She shook her head and pulled away from Four Fifty-one, moving to a stack of clean but un-folded clothes on the dresser. Over the years her furniture had slowly moved back into a more normal position, but they still remained clustered around the bed like a small fort, protecting her from imagined monsters.

"It's too late to change anything. I've moved past the point of resolutions. The only way forward is to maintain the facade."

"You're being indirect."

Four Fifty-one grabbed her by the arm and spun her around with a forceful tug. More aggressive than her normal method, but neither of them was acting like themselves.

"Tell me."

Three-Twelve wrung her hands and tried to turn back to the dresser, but her sister retained her grip.

"It's about Three's father, h-"

The intercom interrupted them, tearing through the second half of the next word.

"Commander Four Fifty-one, you are being requested in the main conference room immediately."

Talking through gritted teeth, Four Fifty-one responded to the announcement.

"Understood. I am on my way."

She looked back at her sister.

"We will continue this conversation later, okay?"

Three-Twelve nodded and took in a deep breath.

"As you wish. Time for you to be poised and dignified."

Four Fifty-one backed away from her hesitantly and turned to leave.

When she had gone, Three-Twelve moved back to her clothes on the table. She could have cried if she would have allowed herself. Every tear would be held behind a floodgate that she had erected when she decided to make this trade. She must be the strong one. She was always the strong one.

Nothing but pain awaited her in the future as she strove to be the pillar of strength that everyone expected of Three-Twelve. Her mask must be deepened, held more stoutly towards others as she crucified herself behind it.


	10. Chapter 10: Agony

_The truly scary thing about undiscovered lies is that they have a greater capacity to diminish us than exposed ones. They erode our strength, our self-esteem, our very foundation. _

~Cheryl Hughes

_**-10-**_

_Agony_

"So what we're seeing is real."

Two-Twenty nodded and moved past Four Fifty-one to the screen with his presentation. He mapped the outline of the sector, each piece breaking up into smaller and smaller ones. After the entire area had been split apart it looked like a wave rippling out from their destination.

"This is most definitely real, in the sense that what we are seeing is not manufactured imagery."

"What are we looking at, though?"

"This unit believes that is self evident."

Darren walked up and crossed his arms.

"Indulge us."

"The deflector array on the front of the Fokhal is a fractal-dimensional array. This one has been using it for the last few years to track these transmissions. However, this unit has just recently learned why its efforts have been only partially successful."

"Because we're dealing with a transmission interrupted in a single dimension, rather than a signal scattered around several dimensions," came Darren's response.

"Correct. The signal is fractal, not because it is being sent over different dimensions, but because it is being sent by normal means and has been corrupted in only one dimension."

Four Fifty-one shook her head at the two.

"Okay, and what does this tell us?"

"Time displacement," both of them answered at the same time.

"Time travel?"

Two-Twenty tapped the screen and slid it to the next moving image. It appeared to be a graphical log of all the places he had encountered the message and at what time.

"In the most basic sense, yes. The signals this one has been collecting are actually the same transmission or set of transmissions being released in spurts over what seems like a few decades."

Darren rocked back and forth as he listened, stroking his chin with his finger.

"What makes this transmission so special?"  
"Two reasons..."

Two-Twenty swiped the screen, proceeding to the next part of his presentation.

"One, it's a Borg homing beacon, with a countdown timer running underneath. That is what first indicated to this unit that we were dealing with time displacement. Two, its underlying serial code is recognizable."

He tapped the image and a set of digits appeared in repetition. Four Fifty-one went slack-jawed as she read the numbers.

"7-6-9-3-9-2-2-2-3"

The Lieutenant looked back and forth between them.

"This is significant?"  
Four Fifty-one could not say anything, her eyes transfixed on the numerals in front of her. Two-Twenty went ahead and answered for her.

"It is our former Cube's designation."

"Oh. That is significant."

"Yes. Also, this one has reason to believe that the time displacements in this area are not natural."

"Someone is luring Starfleet vessels here."

The drone nodded and slid the screen back to the first image of the rippled sector space. This broke Four Fifty-one's stare, forcing her to rejoin them, but she remained silent.

"This unit is certain that it is not just any Federation ship that the creator of this is after. They are specifically attempting to attract the three of us: Four Fifty-one, Three-Twelve and this one."

Darren gestured towards the center of the ripple.

"So we're back to the trap theory."

"This unit does not believe so. It is a highly complex machination to be a trap. There are certainly less difficult ways to destroy the three of us if necessary. We are being brought here and specifically here."

"Now the question is: for what reason?" Four Fifty-one interrupted.

Two-Twenty turned off the viewscreen and leveled his gaze at his sister.

"This unit believes our question will be answered shortly."

She sighed as she turned to the door.

"There will not be a good answer."

After she left, Darren looked at Two-Twenty as he waited patiently for Security to arrive.

"I have to agree, there's very little chance that this will end well."

"As does this one. However, we have no choice but to proceed forward, or backward as the case may be."

Seventy-one looked up in surprise from her tricorder to Seventeen and Eight. They both had heard the whispers too, and none of them could believe it. The words were clear, but distorted as though being forced through a digital voicebox. The audible hiss that strung the silent spaces between the commands felt proper. It was not interference but the natural manner in which it spoke.

Both Eight and Seventy-one looked to Seventeen for an analysis of the sound. After a brief pause he delivered.

"It is her."

Eight grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him slightly so she could talk to his face.

"The commands are accurate?"

"They are."

"Then she's been waiting for us."

Seventy-one took a step towards the two, placing them in a lopsided triangle at the center of the cargo bay where they had been servicing equipment.

"But she's not our Prime, I mean, not really. Is she?"

Seventeen nodded to her.

"She most definitely is. However, we must proceed cautiously. We will see if the map laid out by her is correct. If things go as she described, then we will carry out the commands."

"Shouldn't we at least tell Three-Twelve? Are we not supposed to report these things?"

"No. If she is right, then informing our current Prime of our intentions will bring down everything."

"But we're-"

The door opened and Three-Twelve walked in with Twenty close behind. He looked at the others knowingly, as they returned to their duties.

When she had reached the edge of the group, she stopped.

"We will be reaching the focal point of the displacement within the hour. How is our gear?"

Nobody moved any more than was necessary, keeping their eyes away from hers until Seventeen took spoke up.

"Weapons are almost done. I've put Seventy-one on the EVA suits should we need them."

Three-Twelve looked at Seventy-one, but she did not raise her eyes to meet her Prime.

"Are they up to spec?"

"Th-they are fine. I've uh..."

She grabbed the sheepish woman by the jaw and in one terse move, turned her head towards her own, forcing them to make eye contact. The tricorder in her hand hit the floor with a clatter. Seventy-one put her hand against Three-Twelve's shoulder as though she was going to push her away, but did not put any force behind it.

"I thought we dealt with this stuttering already. Are the EVAs up to spec? Speak."

"I've run diagnostics on all of them, they're in working order."

Three-Twelve forcefully connected into her and immediately could feel the fear behind her words.

_What are you hiding from me?_

Seventeen interrupted with his connection, stepping forward and putting his hand on the shoulder opposite Seventy-one's.

_Is new to the connection. Nervousness to be expected. Will take care of it._

Three-Twelve looked to him and then back to the shaking woman in her hand. She released and stepped back from them, breaking their grips.

_Work with her. Cannot abide hesitancy._

She turned and headed back to the door, giving one last instruction before disconnecting.

_Will be on the bridge._

_ Understood._

Her lips quivering, she turned to him, placing one hand against her jaw and rubbing it.

_Thank you._

_Did nothing for you. About to reveal our instructions._

Seventy-one nodded as water welled up in her eyes. She angrily fought the losing battle to stop them from showing her weakness.

Reaching down to pick up the fallen tricorder, Seventeen felt her swelling tears. He handed it to her and disconnected.

"If you must cry, do so while you run the required diagnostics."

He then moved to the open weapons locker and continued his work.

Seventy-one did so as well, wiping her face on her sleeve every time her eyes betrayed her.

"And dis one?"

Three pointed to the picture of the woman on the page, an angelic figure with a magnificent grouping of clouds behind her. The child's finger slid down it as she looked around the room for her mother.

Three-Twelve slapped an armor piece back into place and pulled the releases together so they snapped tightly. When done, she turned to see what Three was pointing at.

"That's Themis, goddess of liberty and justice."

She made her way to the little girl, setting a pistol on the table. It had taken some work, but she'd managed to sneak her weapons past the Chief of Security. The way that he guarded that armory, one would think that he was suspicious of the MACO group.

Not that Three-Twelve could find much fault with his disposition. Over the past few days, she'd become very suspicious of them as well. Her own Clutch seemed withdrawn and unwilling to converse with her in the normal way.

Perhaps she was just imagining things, which was most likely the case. Everything lately had seemed to be covered in a gray. She shrugged off the feeling and returned to her child.

Three looked back at the picture, her eyes dancing over it as though she was trying to look at the entire picture at once.

"Oh, she's good, right?"

Three-Twelve sighed.

"Yes. I suppose she is one of the good ones."  
She swatted lightly at Three's fingers.

"Don't run your fingers over it, it'll smudge."

"I'm not! I'm being very carefool."

She turned a few more pages, bypassing all of the text in favor of the large colorful pictures. After a few less interesting ones, she stopped at a modern artist's interpretation of a Mayan goddess.

"And dis one?"

"That's Ixtab."

"That's a silly name! Issshhh-Tahb."

She repeated it to herself a couple times before looking back to her mother.

"What's she do?"

Three-Twelve opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of her immediate response. She picked up the pistol and slid it back into her holster, wiggling it down into place while trying to find an explanation that was suitable for a four-year-old.

"Ixtab's job is to help people who have been dishonored. She helps them find peace."

Three stared at the picture for a little while longer and pointed to the hair.

"She, um, she looks like you, mommy."

"Do you think so?"

The little girl nodded at the book.

"Yeep."

Three-Twelve pulled on the chest armor straps, bringing it snuggly around her body. The collar tightened around her neck, holding fast, but still giving her enough room to move.

"Maybe I should follow in her footsteps."

Three abruptly changed the subject, jerking her head towards Three-Twelve.

"Are you going now?"

"Yes. I have to be on the bridge. Your sitter will be here in a minute."

The child jumped off of the chair and ran across the room to put the book back with the others. After sliding it carefully back into the short table-rack, she ran back and wrapped her arms as best as she could around her mother's legs.

"You goin' on a 'way mission?"

"Maybe, but right now I'm just going to the bridge."

Three released Three-Twelve after receiving a pat on the head.

"I'm going to play in my room. Okay mommy?"

"Okay."

After the door to her room had shut, Three-Twelve left her quarters flexing against the suit as it constricted against her. It was no tighter than it had ever been, but her chest felt so hollow. She could feel the suit collapsing in, trying to crush her, like the rigidity of the armor itself was the only thing keeping her from shattering.

The ship's engines hummed to a stop as they waited. H'Soe, at the Helm, turned around and looked at them for further instructions. Two-Twenty leaned over towards Four Fifty-one, speaking in his stiff way while Jameson listened in from the other side.

"Though it does not look like it, ahead of us is the boundary for the time distortion. When we proceed in, we will be cut off from our time until we emerge again."

He stood and made his way towards the turbolift.

"We must not get trapped inside of the bubble should it collapse. If its area falls below a certain threshold the edges will be too dense to pass through safely."

Jameson talked over his shoulder as he relaxed back into his chair.

"See you on the other side."

Two-Twenty gave a stiff nod and moved into the lift, passing Three-Twelve who was just coming out. They gave each other a brief acknowledgement, but said nothing.

She took up her normal spot on the far wall, leaning against it in her armor.

The Captain got to his feet and made his way to H'Soe, who had turned back around to the viewscreen. He leaned on the Helmsman's chair.

"When Two-Twenty has beamed to the Fokhal, take us in."

After a few seconds, they proceeded forward, along with the small science vessel tucked under one nacelle. There was little to be seen other than the blueish-green planet in front of them and the ring of large debris around it.

The image pulsed a little, bowing in the middle and then changing entirely. The planet was still there, but the chunks of rock had been replaced by a decently-sized moon. Flashes of light wrapped around it from the battle taking place on the other side.

A dwindling group of Federation starships spun around a heavily damaged Borg Cube. It was a down-and-out brawl as both groups took swipes at each other like caged animals.

Yukiko Anagnostou reported from her Science station amid the silence.

"Three Starships. No, now two. Older escort classes. Standard Borg cube, very damaged. I don't think the Starfleet ships are going to win this one."

Four Fifty-one stood and made her way to Jameson's side, directly behind the Conn officer.

"Can they see us?"

"The moon is masking us for now, but even if it weren't, they aren't really paying attention to anything else."

Ensign Brett spoke up before anyone had a chance to respond.

"The other starship has been destroyed, there is only the one. It will not survive much longer."

Jameson turned to Four Fifty-one.

"What tactical options do we have?"

"We can fire quantums from here. A high-yield blast should take out the Cube in its current state, but we can't do that. We cannot interfere with the timeline."

"I think we're going to have to, because we already did."

Jameson moved back to his chair, pointing to Anagnostou as he did.

"Identify the Federation ship."

He turned to his Tactical officer.

"Ready torpedoes."

The science officer tapped away on her console, coming up with an answer just as he finished his order.

"Designation, NCC-94627. U.S.S. Labra."

"I'd recognize that ship anywhere. Lock onto the Cube and fire."

The blue flashes of light flew from the Áo Dài towards the Cube. The bridge flashed with light from the viewscreen behind Four Fifty-one as she moved back to her seat beside Jameson. He leaned over to her, speaking softly.

"We were totally out-classed for that fight. Thought we got the drop on them, and maybe we did."

The Cube was nearly torn in two, the Starfleet ship just barely limping out of the blast area in time. The force still pushed the vessel slightly, nudging it into a list to one side. After the explosion, Four Fifty-one continued.

"You think we interfered?"

"Yes, and I think we're not done yet. Ensign, how's the Labra doing?"

He spun in his chair, looking over at Brett who, as usual, was eavesdropping on the conversation.

"There's a leak in fusion generator two. Their internal sensors are offline, so they probably don't even know it's about to go."

The Captain returned to Four Fifty-one.

"We found that generator powered down manually, all on its own. We couldn't figure out how it got done. We chalked it up to coincidence."

"So we need to shut that down."

"Yes, and I'm afraid that I'm going to have to be the one to do it. The smaller the group the better."

She shook her head.

"No. You need to remain on the bridge."

"The generator will need to be powered down and I know that place better than anyone. You could get lost."

"Powering down a generator is not a difficult process."

Four Fifty-one tapped her Imager with a finger.

"And I believe I know the layout of that ship better than you."

He smirked.

"I guess you do, Number One."

Anagnostou leaned over her console, interjecting herself into the conversation.

"They have been boarded. Also, there are two spheres and several probes heading this way."

Jameson looked at her.

"ETA?"

"An hour at most."

"What about that Cube?"

"It's coming back together slowly, probably be mobile within another thirty minutes or so. We can't risk another shot or we'll be seen."

Three-Twelve pushed herself off of the wall and walked towards the two.

"I'll go too; for protection."

Four Fifty-one stood to face her sister.

"Are you sure? It is not necessary."

She unholstered her pistols, checked them and put them back.

"I've always wanted to meet more of the family."

Jameson joined them, but stood off to the side.

"Alright, but be careful, both of you. I'm going to try to put us between the Labra and the incoming Borg ships."

They both nodded and headed to the turbolift as the Captain returned to his seat.

"Helm, move us as close to the Labra as we can, without getting their attention."

"U.S.S. Fokhal coming in."

H'Soe put the hail on the screen as soon as the connection was made, not waiting for Jameson's approval. Two-Twenty was neatly framed in the shot, the gray metal alcoves flickering in the dim blue light behind him.

"Captain."

Jameson turned back to the screen and crossed his arms.

"Two-Twenty."

"This unit believes that it may have a method to stop the Cube permanently. It will pursue the Labra shortly, when it repairs itself."

"Yes, we were just discussing the same possibility as well. What do you propose?"

Two-Twenty pressed a button just off the screen, replacing his image with a picture of an astrometrics chart of the immediate area. A point near the moon radiated out in concentric circles while the Liberated's voice continued in the background.

"The source of the signal is also the center of the artificial time displacement for this area. As you can see it is very close to the Cube. We can tear apart this displacement at its source."

"And you think this will trap the Cube as well?"

"Yes. They will not have the power to move away from it."

"What will we need for this?"

The image returned to Two-Twenty.

"We will need a ship with a fractal-dimensional deflector array."

"Well, that's convenient; we have one of those."

"We do. I would recommend that we evacuate the Fokhal, and proceed with only this one and one other."

He turned quickly to Ensign Brett.

"Prepare to beam everyone off that ship."

He gave a quick "Aye," and returned to his console.

When Jameson looked back to the viewscreen, the image had been replaced with that of the Horizon's Captain, Kelsey. She was significantly taller than Two-Twenty, placing more of her blue science uniform in the shot than her face.

She acknowledge the change with a nod.

"I don't particularly like the idea of surrendering my ship, but Two-Twenty is rarely wrong."

"Why is that necessary?"

"He believes that an Engineer with piloting experience would be best for this excursion. I am neither."

Jameson placed his arms behind his back.

"We have one of those, too."

"You?"

"Yes."

The woman sighed and then gave a reluctant tap of the head.

"Well, if I have to relinquish command, then I suppose to a Starfleet Captain would be best."

"As you wish. We will begin beaming your crew aboard immediately."

Jameson pointed to Ensign Brett, who took the indication to start selecting groups to transport.

"Be careful," Kelsey said as she gave another sigh.

"I'll do my best."

The screen went dark for a second before flashing back to the image of a Borg Cube slowly regenerating. The large moon took up most of the foreground obscuring both it and the planet.

Jameson headed for the turbolift.

"You're in charge until the Commander gets back, Ensign Brett."

He got to his feet shakily.

"Are you sure?"

The Captain didn't say anything, giving him a confident smile before continuing on his way.

"Uh, Aye-aye sir," Brett nervously replied.

Jameson added one last order before the doors closed.

"Keep her in one piece."

The two materialized in a broken corridor littered with dead bodies both Starfleet officers and Borg drones. They'd been placed mercifully close to the generator, not but a corridor away. It had been a long time, but if she remembered properly, there were less than forty people left on this ship.

Four Fifty-one took a few moments to take in the scene, letting her Imager pull up the decades-old schematics and lay them over the surrounding area. This ship was, by all measurements that mattered, her birthplace. Their birthplace.

Though the actual Labra was still in commission during her own time, she'd not returned to it, nor had she intended to ever. She felt no attachment to the old vessel, probably in at least its third refit. Now that she was standing in a hallway, however, there was emotion being evoked that she could not quite pin down.

Three-Twelve pushed her way past Four Fifty-one, huffing.

"We have a job to do, Commander."

She pushed it aside and followed her sister down the corridor to the door at the center. In the distance, the muffled rumble of an explosion vibrated the ship under their feet. It was not enough to make the two lose their footing, but it did remind them of their limited time.

Three-Twelve keyed a code into the pad beside the door. It promptly chimed and swished open.

Her sister gave her an approving nod as they walked onto the steel grate that was suspended above the glowing fusion generator below.

"I have had some experience with this ship's security systems."

"That you have."

They stopped at the end of the ledge that hung out over the shaft and looked down to the source of light below. The problem became obvious quite quickly. A structural beam had shaken loose and fallen on the generator, breaking the seal. It was a quick few-hour fix to reseal the containment and hoist the beam back into place, but they would have to leave that to someone else.

Four Fifty-one turned around and headed to the ladder that hung from the side of the metal grating on the floor. It would place her on the opposite side of the device, nearest the control console, just barely out of the range of the invisible energy bubble that surrounded it.

She landed just behind the panel, and gave a thumbs-up to her sister above. Three-Twelve responded with a reluctant half-wave and turned back to the door, unholstering one of her pistols.

Returning her attention to the console, Four Fifty-one started to work on bringing the generator offline. It took a few minutes, first rerouting around it, venting the excess matter and then finally starting to power down.

The bright white and blue flame-in-a-bottle of the spherical device began to dim as it entered the last stages of the shutdown process. Four Fifty-one left the system to commence the work on its own, jumping back on the ladder and returning to the top.

Three-Twelve helped her sister to her feet with her free hand, and lead them back out the door and far enough away from the damaged device that they could beam out.

She came to a sudden stop nearly making Four Fifty-one collide with her. She had her pistol up, her face of stone.

"Why are you st-"

She saw the answer before she could complete the sentence.

Working on a nearby wall panel was a drone. He turned and began to walk toward them, thumping along slowly but methodically.

Four Fifty-one reached for her rifle but it wasn't there. She had forgotten to stop by the armory and get it.

"We have to get away from the generator so we can beam out. Just shoot him."

Three-Twelve lowered her weapon.

"I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't? We have to get out of here!"

Four Fifty-one's voice squeeked as she yelled. She'd never heard herself scream before, and she certainly sounded out of practice.

"Three-Twelve, we have to get out of here! Please just stun him and we can move on."

She brought her gun back up as she moved her head from side to side, slowly examining her brother shuffling down the hall.

"He doesn't feel fear or sadness does he?"

"We're different than them. We're us. They're Borg."

"Sometimes I wonder which of us is happier."

The drone was on them now. He brought his arm up and the assimilation tubules popped towards Three-Twelve at a blinding speed.

She was quicker, grabbing the thin black tubes and ripping them from his body in one powerful jerk and coming back with the same fist across his face. The drone flew into a wall, cracking a panel there and then crumpling to the floor.

Three-Twelve tossed the wires onto the floor and tapped the button to activate her suit's personal shield. It came on in a flash of blue, washing over her and then disappearing.

"I can tag them and bring them back to the ship, but I wouldn't curse them to that."

"We can't alter the time-line Three-Twelve."

"I'm sorry, Four Fifty-one. I have to do this."

She came at her with another punch, but Four Fifty-one blocked it, spun and decked her.

It had all been reaction. Years of hand-to-hand combat training coming and an uncountable number of sparring matches brought it to the surface all on its own. The two sisters looked at each other with the same stunned expression.

Three-Twelve eventually smiled.

"Finally. She hits someone back. Guess you're the strong one now. Perfect, poised and strong."

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"No, you did. And you should have. Now you've got everything. Better in all ways."

"Better? Than who?"

Three-Twelve stood still, like an armored statue, set her weapon to the stun setting and reached one hand out towards the wall panel. She typed on it like it was an afterthought.

"I was always the broken one, wasn't I? Everyone looked at you and said 'Oh, her with her disfigured eye. So quiet and uncomfortable. So broken.'"

She finished with the console and returned to Four Fifty-one.

"But it wasn't you was it? It was me all along that didn't belong. I was the one suffering. I was the one quiet and uncomfortable. So quiet no one even noticed."

Three-Twelve turned to look at the downed drone.

"But I don't belong there, either, do I? I don't belong anywhere. Too Borg to be human, too humanized to be Borg."

"You belong with Three and Jameson. That's your Collective."

"Truth is at the barrel of a gun, and a lie is all I have left."

"What lie?"

Three-Twelve raised her weapon and fired. The blast tossed her sister backwards into a pile of debris, breaking her fall, but only somewhat.

She hoisted Four Fifty-one onto her shoulders and carried her to the end of the corridor. Carefully, she placed the body on the carpeted floor and hit the communicator button on her suit.

"Three-Twelve to Áo Dài."

A voice responded immediately.

"Ensign Brett, here."

"Four Fifty-one has been hit. She's just stunned, but beam her directly to Sickbay. I will be joining you soon."

"Understood."

The body of Four Fifty-one disappeared in a swirl of blue and white. Three-Twelve turned and headed down the corridor, holstering her pistols and snapping the releases on her suit. The armor loosened, but it did not fall off, her shield flickering when it readjusted to the new geometry. It was time to make the lie stop.

"How are we doing?"

Jameson furiously typed away on the keypad, waiting for Two-Twenty to respond from his alcove in the cargo bay. Though most of the ship's systems were automated, it still took a lot of work for one person to keep up with them.

The voice of the Liberated thundered over the intercom system.

"This unit is prepared. Please concentrate on maintaining the shield. There will be massive fluctuations when we activate the fractal-dimensional array."

"What are we expecting?"

"Unknown. This one has not attempted to accomplish a feat of this type before."

He sighed, and returned to his work on the console, bringing the shields online and adjusting them by degrees to the correct frequency.

"Alright, I'm all ready, Two-Twenty."

"As is this unit. We are nearing the source of the signal."

The viewscreen showed the outside of the ship, the moon sitting still to the side of a rapidly approaching Cube. The Borg ship was expected, but it moved towards them at an unbelievable speed for its condition, like it had a deadline to meet.

Two-Twenty's voice returned as they slowed to a stop.

"We are in position. Analyzing signal now."

The ship shook and then was held perfectly still. Jameson confirmed what he already knew with a few quick button taps.

"They've got us in a tractor beam. Our shields are being drained."

"This unit requires at least another two minutes."

"Rotating shield frequencies. Don't know if it'll do any good."

The panels around him began to flicker and dim, as the power was sapped from them. Jameson worked to keep the faltering equipment working, but he was running out of things to shut down. Everything, even life support had been funneled through to the shields. The ship's warp core was simply not putting out enough to combat the drain.

"I'm losing it, Two-Twenty."

"The signal has been captured. Decrypting."

There was a long pause punctuated only by the sound of the ship falling apart around him. Each bridge station overloaded and died as the system took on the brunt of the power loss by degrees, like an anvil being laid down slowly on a stack of china.

"How are we doing?"

"This one has recorded and found the purpose of the signal. It is a combination of transmissions from multiple sources."

"What does that tell us?"

"It is telling us that we are about to die."

Jameson looked to the ceiling, as though that was where Two-Twenty was hiding. He was screaming now over the top of the destruction around him.

"What do you mean we are about to die?"

"The signal is informing us of our untimely demise. But as this unit understands it, we have no choice."

"What does it say, exactly, Two-Twenty?"

"This one must apologize, Jameson. There is little time to enact the plan. Why this unit did not see this before is very troubling."

Jameson moved to the communication's station, but found the panel had been locked and was in use. In anger he struck it and swore.

"You can't do this!"

There was nothing but silence to greet him.

The viewscreen flashed a vivid purple as the rift that Two-Twenty had spoken of earlier became visible. The Cube disengaged the tractor beam and tried to move away, but it was too slow. The arms of the amorphous blob of light reached out and tore into the Borg ship, ripping pieces of it off, drawing curved lines across its cracking hull.

The Fokhal was not far behind, the closest nacelle bursting in a brilliant light show as the tendrils struck the ship and retracted. The destruction seemed to fuel the rift, bringing it ever closer to the two vessels.

It swiped at both ships in tandem, tearing off pieces and vaporizing them with increasing ferocity. Jameson watched and felt it rip at the ship, until one arm came across and slapped down on the bridge.

He felt nothing; there was nothing to feel. His body turned to energy and discharged as the Fokhal's saucer collapsed around him.


	11. Chapter 11: Sphere

_Everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough. _

~George Bernard Shaw

_**-11-**_

_Sphere_

The purple rift came out of the empty space beside the two ships, twisting out and snatching pieces of them. That which did not disintegrate immediately flew off into the darkness as scorched flower petals of debris.

Ensign Brett sat uncomfortably in his chair, shifting from side to side.

"What's the status of the other ships?"

Anagnostou answered from over his shoulder.

"There are still two spheres and several probes headed into the system. The Cube is heavily damaged."

"And the Federation vessel?"

"Well on their way out of the system. They're still within transporter range, but not for long."

"That frees us up a little."

H'Soe interrupted them, his rough voice demanding immediate attention.

"We are being hailed. It is the U.S.S. Fokhal. Audio-only."

Brett stood and made his way to the center of the bridge, putting his arms behind his back as he did so.

"On speakers."

The voice was distorted, but was still at the very least intelligible. Despite the fact that his ship was teetering on the edge of destruction, Two-Twenty sounded very calm.

"This is Two-Twenty. This unit is preparing some items which must be beamed over to the Áo Dài and given to Four Fifty-one when she returns. They are crude, but time allowed for little else."

"When she returns?"  
"Yes. She will be beaming to the ship without Three-Twelve momentarily. I've only made the five, but she will figure out the sixth soon enough. Are you ready for transport?"

Anagnostou nodded to the Ensign who relayed the message to Two-Twenty.

"Yes. Beam when ready."

Just moments after finishing the sentence, the Fokhal detonated, dispatching a shockwave that sheered off the corner of what was left of the Borg Cube.

Brett didn't miss a beat.

"Transporter room. Did you get it?"

A second or two passed before the confused voice of the Transport Chief responded.

"Uh, yeah. I think."

"What was sent?"  
"Looks like a bunch of clay eggs with numbers carved in them. What was the point of this?"

"Hopefully, the Commander will have more answers. Be sure that she gets them."

Before the Chief could answer, H'Soe interrupted them again.

"Three-Twelve, sir."

Brett turned his attention back to the image of the Labra heading away from them.

"Ensign Brett, here."

"Four Fifty-one has been hit. She's just stunned, but beam her directly to Sickbay. I will be joining you soon."

"Understood."

He pointed to Anagnostou, but she was already started, informing the transporter room of their next task.

The Ensign began to protest her staying, but the connection went dead. He looked to H'Soe who turned away shrugging before going back to his tasks.

"She is not responding."

Anagnostou preempted his next question.

"Three-Twelve has activated her personal shield, we can't beam her out. That may be the least of our worries though."

He tilted his head towards her, but did not take his eyes off of the screen.

"How so?"  
"The rift is causing the time-displacement to compress inwards. We don't have very long before we will be unable to leave."

"How long?"

"Fifteen minutes, maybe."

The turbolift door popped open and Four Fifty-one stumbled onto the bridge, cradling her head. Dr. Nell followed close behind, preparing a hypospray. She stopped beside Brett and forced herself to stand as straight as she could.

"Where's the Captain?"

"He went to the Fokhal with Two-Twenty to activate the rift and find the source of the signal."

"And what did they find?"

"They, uh..."

He looked around the room at all the faces staring at him. His eyes darted from one to the next, hoping to find a response written on one of them.

"They are dead. The Fokhal was destroyed in the rift. We only have a about ten to fifteen minutes until we will be unable to leave."

Four Fifty-one was frozen, her face as blank as her mind, as though she could stop the pain if she simply stopped thinking at all. The doctor used the pause to place the hypospray to her neck and press the trigger. The injection pushed her back to her senses, and a few words tumbled out.

"We, we uh, have to rescue Three-Twelve."

Anagnostou talked from behind them.

"We can't beam her out. We'd have to go over there and get her. And we're going to have to be quick about it."

Four Fifty-one turned back towards the turbo-lift.

"I'll go."

"Oh no you don't."

Dr. Nell grabbed her arm and held her firmly.

"You're not going anywhere. You've been injured. I can't let you go."

"I'm going whether you like it or not."

"If you attempt to leave I will declare you unfit for command and have you relieved of duty. You're in no condition, physical or otherwise."

She huffed and looked at him sternly.

"Then who? I can't just leave her there."

A voice came over the intercom with their answer.

Seventeen grabbed the remaining rifle from the armory bay before leading the three others out into the hall. He was sure that they weren't going to need it, but it was best to keep up appearances. At the very least it would be better to have a weapon and not need it.

Actually he didn't really know what to expect, even though they'd all been given step-by-step instructions on how this would all play out from beginning to end. So far, the details were unerringly accurate about the course of events, and that had been his litmus test for following through.

The voice, they all agreed, was from a trustworthy source, or at least it would be from a trustworthy source. Multiple timelines were always confusing like that, twisting you around yourself even when the goals were made so clear.

There had been so few, and they mostly consisted of standing by watching everything happen in front of them. They knew more about the future, and one might argue the past, than anyone on this ship. However, that was not the hardest part, idly watching a story unfold that they already knew.

Three-Twelve would be angry, furious in fact, if she knew what they had been hiding from her. Of course, she had kept secrets of her own from them, so perhaps it was justified, but it still did not sit right with any of the Clutch.

Hopefully, if they did meet again, she'd forgive him, like he'd forgiven her. Perhaps they wouldn't ever meet again, and this was the stupidest thing that they'd ever done. Whatever the answer, he was now glad that he'd grabbed his rifle.

The MACO group entered the transporter room to a surprised Starfleet officer standing behind a console. His head gave slow shakes as he spoke, like he was constantly telling them no.

"Hey, uh, MACO. What are you guys doing here?"

Seventeen ignored him and pointed to the pad. The group moved in unison to designated area when he gave the command.

_Positions_

"Seventeen to Bridge."

A chirp from the computer responded followed by Four Fifty-one's voice.

"Bridge here."  
"I believe our group can make a rescue attempt of Three-Twelve."

"How do you know about that?"

"You two went over together. You are here, she is not. Am I incorrect in my assumption?"

There was a lengthy pause before the Commander responded.

"Okay. You've got less than ten minutes."

"I believe that we can complete the task in less time."

"I hope so."

He looked at the Engineering officer in front of him.

"We are to be beamed to the Labra."

"Yes."

Seventeen moved to the other side of the panel, standing slightly behind him.

"Are we in range of the Borg sphere?"

"Transporter range? Barely. You'd have to boost the signal to get there."

"Then that is what we shall do."

"Wha-"

Placing one finger on the officer's neck, Seventeen released a drug into his system, dropping him to the floor. His body landed limply beside a collection of five clay eggs with numbers carved into them.

_You said no injuries._

Seventeen looked up to see Seventy-one with her head cocked to one side. He answered her and returned to his work.

_He will live._

After a few button presses, the transporter was set and he joined the rest of his group on the pad. They would be gone before anyone even knew what had happened. He was feeling more confident about their course of action; everything was going perfectly.

As Seventeen waited for the transporter to activate, it occurred to him that they would not need to ask for Three-Twelve's forgiveness. She was going to die.

The ship rumbled as it glided into position, nearing the source of the transmission that he had been tracking for years. Two-Twenty was not usually one to get excited, but he fidgeted in his alcove, the anxiety refusing to subside. Each new piece he filed and categorized like a greedy accountant, every column in order, waiting for the sum total at the bottom.

Jameson's voice came over the intercom.

"Alright, I'm all ready, Two-Twenty."

"As is this unit. We are nearing the source of the signal."

Humming to a stop, the vessel placed them right on top of it, or at least where it should be. He pressed out with the scanners, but could find no broadcasting equipment. It was as if the transmission was simply being generated out of nothing and propagated without cause. Neither made much sense to him, but it did not matter. Here he was, right on top of it, and it was stronger than he could have hoped.

"We are in position. Analyzing now."

Two-Twenty could feel the tractor beam of the Borg Cube latch onto the ship, jarring him from his concentrated state. The panic could be heard in the Captain's voice as he announced what he was sure they both already knew.

"They've got us in a tractor beam. Our shields are being drained."

"This unit requires at least another two minutes."

"Rotating shield frequencies. Don't know if it'll do any good."

It would not, at least to any useful extent. The Borg of this time period were underpowered, but not incompetent.

He could feel the ship being slowly sucked of its life as Jameson turned off and rerouted power from most of the systems. With the speed and finesse with which he moved, Two-Twenty could not help but be impressed.

The signal came together in front of him, all neat and in a complete package, awaiting his investigation. He wasted no time in beginning to pull it apart, tearing into it as though it contained the meaning to his existence.

The Captain's voice had begun to raise a little, its normally calm tone shadowed by the fear that ran like a spiked pit through it.

"I'm losing it, Two-Twenty."

"The signal has been captured. Decrypting."

He worked furiously to make the transmission part ways with its secrets, pulling on the threads one-by-one until every piece fell apart. After each had been reduced to their individual strands, his concentration moved to organization.

There were three signals total, as he had anticipated from his previous work, and one was broken down yet again into three more. This transmission was Borg in source, but had characteristics unlike any he had encountered before, like it was targeted at a specific drone.

One part of it was definitely a countdown of some kind, though to what, he could only guess. Another was telemetry data, of which he could not make heads or tails of in his rushed state. The third was the schematic data that he had picked up previously. He had erroneously assumed that it was its own stand alone transmission.

Two-Twenty tossed it aside. There was no obvious value in deconstructing it further, and there was little time for him to work.

At first glance, the second of the main signals also looked to be a modified Borg transmission. However, upon further investigation, it was anything but. It was certainly Collective-like in its initial package, but any deeper than that and the similarities fell apart. He dug in, analyzing both the frequency and contents simultaneously.

Then, as though solving a riddle by accident, all the parts fell into place and the voice emerged from the transmission. It was forceful, confident, and proud. It was also familiar. Though submerged in others and with a thin layer of digitization over it, there could be no doubt. It was her.

And when she spoke, he could not help but listen. She told him everything, from start to nearly the end, but he was not her intended audience. The cold calculated snarl that echoed in that stream was warning others of the impending chaos, of her rise to power, of every evil she intended to bring to bear.

Two-Twenty tossed the signal away like it was riddled with disease, recoiling at the mere thought of what would soon come to pass. He must stop it.

He grabbed the third and final transmission that had been wrapped around the other two and began to decrypt it as well. It came apart on his first try. A unique occurrence.

Inside, there was another voice, one that required no introduction because it was his own. As it summed up what he already knew, it pulled the pieces together and displayed the entire last two decades as one completed puzzle.

Two-Twenty had never felt more stupid. It was all so obvious now, the entire path of everyone laid out as timelines criss-crossing each other, proceeding out from a central point in different directions, but at the same arc. They all collapsed in on the same point they started from, a perfect sphere.

Except for one. There was one that continued on in its own spiral outwards ending far and away from the other three. He did not know where it came to rest, but he was glad that it was not snuffed out like the others.

Jameson's voice interrupted him, but he kept working despite the distraction.

"How are we doing?"

"This one has recorded and found the purpose of the signal. It is a combination of transmissions from multiple sources."

"What does that tell us?"

"It is telling us that we are about to die."

Two-Twenty wrapped the signals back up in the same way he had found them, and prepared the broadcast, just as it had been prescribed. He took a quick moment to lock the Captain out of the communication systems, and disconnected from the alcove.

Jameson's voice was in a scream now, panicked for his life. He could not blame him for his anger. He was going to die and there was no time to explain why.

"What do you mean we are about to die?"

"The signal is informing us of our untimely demise. But as this unit understands it, we have no choice."

He picked up the five clay spheres in a box on his worktable and etched in the numbers the sister would need. They were to be part of an art project he had planned, but all of that seemed utterly pointless now. He wished to himself that had a sixth one to complete the set, but this was all there were. The data was too sensitive to be sent over standard frequencies. This decidedly low-tech method was the only way she would not hear him.

"What does it say, exactly, Two-Twenty?"

"This one must apologize, Jameson. There is little time to enact the plan. Why this unit did not see this before is very troubling."

Two-Twenty moved quickly to the replicator and created a small transport signal booster. He placed the device next to the five clay etchings and tapped the communicator on the wall panel. Jameson's voice could be heard yelling at him through the intercom, but was silenced when the connection to the Áo Dài went through.

"This is Two-Twenty. This unit is preparing some items which must be beamed over to the Áo Dài and given to Four Fifty-one when she returns. They are crude, but time allowed for little else."

"When she returns?"  
"Yes. She will be returning to the ship without Three-Twelve momentarily. I've only made the five, but she will figure out the sixth soon enough. Are you ready for transport?"

"Yes. Beam when ready."

Keeping an eye on the clay pieces as the transporter struggled to beam them away, he moved back to his alcove. When they had disappeared, he latched back into his bay, realigned the fractal-dimensional array and fired.

It was clear now that the rift was artificial, as he had expected, but its origins were still unknown. Its purpose was also a mystery, as he could only see as far as his present. He had little time to contemplate it now.

The ship started to shake as he rushed to finish his one last task. He took quick glances to the Borg Cube as his own vessel began to fall apart around him.

At the precise moment that the aperture on the rift opened to the right size, he sent the signal. It bounced around, as he had calculated, through a hundred different timelines. Pieces of it released here and there, but enough would get through to entice him to solve this puzzle, though he knew he wouldn't.

Once his work was done, he disconnected from the alcove and stood watching the cargo bay collapse in on itself. Purple arcs of electricity spun around the room, lighting panels afire with showers of sparks.

Two-Twenty had done everything there was to do; now he could relax his guardian wings. He only had one thought now, and it escaped him without his knowledge. The words fell forth in a form he had never once been able to utter.

"I cannot protect you any more, sister."

"Seventeen to Bridge."

Four Fifty-one shot her head to the side as the idea hit her the second the voice came through.

"Bridge here."  
"I believe our group can make a rescue attempt of Three-Twelve."

"How do you know about that?"

"You two went over together. You are here, she is not. Am I incorrect in my assumption?"

Under normal circumstances, this would not be a good explanation, but there wasn't time to argue specifics. She ignored it and moved on.

Pressing a button on the Captain's chair to mute them, she turned to her science officer.

"Anagnostou, how long now?

"About ten minutes."

Four Fifty-one returned to the MACO group, retrieving a datapad from the side of the Captain's chair.

"Okay. You've got less than ten minutes."

"I believe that we can complete the task in less time."

"I hope so."

She moved to Yukiko's station, resting one arm on the console, copying the information gathered on the rift to the pad in her hand. The bubble that they were in was falling inwards at an exponential rate. With each lightyear it came closer, the surface of it got less traversable. Soon it would reach a critical density and dissipate. There would be no way to push the Áo Dài through and they'd be stuck here.

"Commander?"

She looked up at Ensign Brett who was staring at his console while shaking his head slightly.

"Ensign."

"I, uh, I don't think the MACO group went to the Labra."

Four Fifty-one pushed herself from the Science station and made her way towards him.

"Where did they go?"

"They went to the damaged Cube."

"Why?"

He did not offer a response, shrugging as he gestured to the data on his screen.

She spoke to her side as she tapped the pad on her leg.

"Transporter Room."

After a beat, she repeated herself.

"Transporter Room, respond."

With no response again, she sighed.

"Security, report to the main transporter room."

"This is Security, heading there now."

Stepping back into the middle of the bridge she turned to the Conn officer.

"Contact the MACO group."

"Nothing Commander; they're not responding."

"Are we able to reach them at all?"  
"They can receive us. They're just not responding."

Four Fifty-one turned back to Brett.

"Can we get them back?"  
"No, they've activated their personal shields. We can't get a lock."

Four fifty-one was sorry the second she did it. Everything just hit her at once. The Captain was dead, her brother was too. Three-Twelve was god-knows-where on that ship and the entire MACO division had deserted them.

In a half spin she threw the datapad in her hand against the far wall where it shattered into a score of pieces. A crack resounded through the Bridge and was followed by silence.

The crew stared at her in disbelief, not a single one stirring from their frozen position. Four Fifty-one had pulled her arms over her head, like she was protecting herself from something.

Dr. Nell approached and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"It may be time to stop."

She nodded under her arms, putting them down and adjusting her uniform.

"I'm sorry."

Four Fifty-one turned back to the viewscreen, watching the pieces of the Cube get pulled into the rift. The ship was making headway on escaping, and would probably pull free. The remains of the Fokhal, however, would not.

"Set a- set a course out of here. Maximum Warp."

H'Soe nodded and began to lay in the course.

"Aye."  
"Ensign Brett."

"Yes, Commander."

"You have the Bridge. Inform Kelsey that she may take command of the Áo Dài at her earliest convenience."

He nodded as well and stood to take her place.

"Understood."

She headed to the turbo-lift, followed by Dr. Nell. When the doors had closed he did not say anything, choosing to simply embrace her. That is when she broke.

Four Fifty-one wrapped her arms around him like he contained the only love in the universe.

She didn't know why she did it, or why she was here, though she knew both. There was no plan going forward, but the ability to turn back had been shed long ago. The bodies of drones, her brothers and sisters, lined the abandoned corridor, victims of her rage. The rage was turned outward only because of the sheer volume she contained.

Her right hand was broken, but that did not slow her. The pain was her guide, her beacon at the end of the tunnel. The only thing forcing reality back into focus.

Three-Twelve gave the one in her grip a last good punch and threw him to the ground. His body tumbled over sideways, black blood squirting from his unemotional, mutilated face. Her hand screamed in agony, the metallic bones pushing through the skin. She could feel herself wince involuntarily as the fire throbbed in her disfigured grip.

The corridor was empty now, all the demons lay dead except for one. This would be remedied soon.

The contrast between her fleeting facial expression and the drones she had recently put down told her that Four Fifty-one was right. As much as she had tried to force herself to her Borg side, they were not alike and they never would be.

Though there was effort to straddle the worlds, much as her sister did, she had but faltered time after time. There was no her anymore, there was only what was expected and lies. Failure had met her at both.

In fact, failure was her only defining characteristic, drawing plans from her ineptitude and following through each time. Every facet of her life was a string of shame to herself and others, most particularly the ones she cared for.

She failed as a mother, her own child a source of hatred and anger, which fed upon itself to grow into a beast she could not contain. Three was the result of weakness, first when she fell prey and later when she submitted herself willingly.

She failed as a sibling and a lover, pushing everyone away even when the falsehoods she carried served a purpose no longer. The mask was held tightly to her face, fusing to her being and becoming one. Even there she could not follow through.

She had failed as a friend, subjugating others to her own hunger, pressing them under her thumb and lashing out when they deviated. They would be better off without her.

All would be better off without Three-Twelve. Everyone would carry on, moved only momentarily by her absence and then they'd find another who was better. She was sure there were many.

Three-Twelve walked her final steps, slapping the button to power down her personal shield. She stopped at the end where a large gaping hole had been blown in the hull. The containment field around the wound flickered as it fought to keep the vacuum of space from them.

Outside, the remnants of battles past receded with the stars as the Labra limped away at a paltry sub-light speed. In the distance a moon could be seen, slowly cracking at the seams as it was torn apart from the other side. It would crumble soon, and no one would care.

Somewhere, on this ship, she was here as well. There was a confused, stubborn drone just waking from oblivion to meet her sister for the first time. The drone knew nothing of how these would be the best days ever to pass. She would let them slip through her fingers like they were forever.

Three-Twelve raised the pistol, set it to its highest power and fired.

The shield gave way immediately, throwing her into the void with other bodies and pieces of debris following behind. The ship fell away from her, uncaring, moving to its next destination.

The sudden ejection had given her a slight spin, letting her enjoy the view of the moon, the adjacent planet and the stars in slow procession. Her throat clenched shut, but it would not help. This was the end.

Cold came first, dropping the temperature of her extremeties until she could not move them at all. Her skin split as it froze, forming cracks and revealing the tissue beneath. Her body was as cold as her heart, which thumped to a labored stop.

As Three-Twelve's neck locked up, she was given a brief dying glimpse of a streak across the sky, landing in a flash among the stars. She knew what this was, and she wished them onward, without her, as it should be.

Death reached for her and she gave herself freely. She would not fail at this.

Four Fifty-one pulled the loose top as tightly as she could around herself, but it fell away as soon as she released it. The clothing was made to wrap around her only one way, and all her prodding wasn't going to change anything. It had been so long since she had worn civilian clothes that she couldn't help but fidget as they refused to fit her odd form properly.

The fidgeting, while not something she fell prone to often, was just about all she could do while sitting here. There were only a few minutes now before her fears would be realized by the person walking through that door.

She'd played out the encounter over and over in her head, but none of this made any kind of sense. There was no way to pare down all of this to a form that was consistent to reality as she understood it, much less to be laid out for another.

The best word for all of this was surreal, the worst, hell. In either case, here she was, and soon to drag another down as well. It was a cascade of crumbling lives emanating out from her sister, as she tore into them, even though she was not around to oversee their destruction.

When the door slid open, Four Fifty-one jerked to a rigid position on the chair. The muscles in her stomach resisted, still tired from the suffering she had put them through earlier. For now, the urge to exercise them again had subsided, giving her a brief reprieve in which to finish this daunting task.

The form bounded into the room without a care, dropping her bag at the wall and running towards Four Fifty-one.

"Fi-Feety one!"

She embraced the child reluctantly and absorbed the thrown weight. Three's embrace forced her back to her previous state which she fought tooth and nail to suppress. However a few sad lurches found their way out of her.

Three pulled back immediately, repositioning herself on Four Fifty-one's lap and looked at her.

"Whas wrong?"

"I'm just a little sad."

"Why?"

"I miss your mom."

She smiled and threw herself into another hug with Four Fifty-one.

"She'll be right back, silly. She juss on 'way mission. Gonna punch some bad guys. That's what mom does."

"I don't think your mom is coming back."

It felt blunt and harsh, but she knew no other way to phrase it. She felt evil, like there were some set of words out there that she could use to soften the blow, but had simply refused to provide them.

Three shook her head in disbelief.

"Sometimes I think that, too. But mommy, she always comes back. She'll be right back. Daddy'll be back, too."

"No hun, your mom and dad are not coming back. They're gone."

"They have ta come back. Who else gonna make breakfast and play with my dolls wif me?"

"I could, if you want."

Three looked off to the side. She put a finger to her chin while she thought. The gesture was done in a fashion to give the impression she was imitating someone else.

"Okay. But only 'til mom and dad come back. Cause, cause they get worried if I'm not here and they don't know where I am."

Four Fifty-one couldn't bring herself to argue. This was as far as she wished to push the issue for now. There would be little use in crashing the whole world down on the girl's head. She would not be so vicious. Not yet.

"Of course, Three. Now, why don't we get some of your stuff to bring back to my place for tonight? We'll get you something nice to wear. I have a counselor friend for you to meet tomorrow."

Three jumped down and started for her room.

"Okay. I'm gonna get my music player and my, um, my..."

She didn't finish, her voice disappearing with her as she headed into the room. Four Fifty-one stood, took a deep breath and tried again to determine if this was real. It looked so, felt so, but somehow it was disjointed from the reality she knew, like a dream.

No, like a nightmare. A horrible nightmare.

Dr. Nell slid the other datapad across the table, letting Four Fifty-one finish scribbling a signature beside her thumb-print. She had been abnormally silent since they had met, not bothering to move the conversation beyond that which was necessary.

"That's the last one. We'll send these off and probably hear back within a few weeks."

Four Fifty-one finished the fingerprint and pushed it back to the doctor.

"A few weeks? It takes that long?"

"Well, they have to determine that you're fit, and then they have to go through all the records, etcetera. Bunch of paper pushing is what I'm saying."

"I suppose it can't be helped."

Dr. Nell stacked the three pads and moved them off to the side, quickly throwing in his question before she had a chance to escape.

"How is she?"

She spun in her chair to leave but was caught before she got too far. Reluctantly, she turned back towards the doctor.

"I don't think Three really understands what's going on. The counselor believes the same thing. I've been advised not to lie to her, but not to bring it up."

"You think that's best?"  
"I don't know what I think. I've never raised a child. One might argue that I've never even been one."

"No one really remembers being that young. You have just about as much knowledge as the rest of us. You'll do a good job."

"I appreciate your confidence."

The doctor moved around the table and sat beside her. He looked at her, but Four Fifty-one refused to return in kind. She sat, still as she had been, eyes locked on her fingers.

Dr. Nell finally broke the silence with a "Well," before launching into his next question.

"...how are you doing?"

"I'm-"

Four Fifty-one took in a breath and let it out. She'd answered this question many times over the last few days, each time with undue annoyance. They meant well, but it still aggravated her.

"I'm doing fine. It hurts, but I'll get over it. Right now, I have to focus on her."

"That's admirable, but not necessarily healthy. You've lost a lot very quickly, and-"

"I know what I've lost doctor," she snapped back at him. "I know that my sister is gone. I know that my brother is gone. I know that my friend is gone. I know that they'll never come back. I know that I've lost all of my family."

She stood and started to gather her things to leave, clumsily picking up the pads that were hers.

"I am tired of being reminded every day by every person I meet what I've lost."

"So you're just going to isolate yourself from everyone and be done with it."

Gathering everything under her arm, she moved towards the exit, stopping at the door.

"No, doctor. It's not about me anymore. I can't let her lose everything, too."

"There were other choices."

"What? Foster care? An orphanage?"

Dr. Nell stood, heading back to his station.

"I think you've made the right one, Four Fifty-one, but you still have a choice. I'm trying to compliment you, damn it."

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"I've not done anything worth complimenting. There was no choice to be made."

With that she left, letting the door swish shut behind her.

The doctor returned to his chair and fell in like he'd just finished a marathon, rubbing his temples before restarting his work on the computer. He thought that Vulcans were a stubborn bunch. At least they would listen to logic.

After a few seconds of thought, he reopened a set of files that had remained closed for some time. Three sets of DNA sat beside each other, one labeled Three-Twelve, the second Three and the last one Jameson. Two of them matched, and one did not.

He clicked the "Delete All Files" option, confirmed it, and watched the data be destroyed. When it had finished, he leaned back, pulled the pads down that he and Four Fifty-one had been working on and began to make his medical notes.

The doctor had told Jameson that he would take this to his grave, and he intended to keep his promise.


	12. Chapter 12: Themis

_A ship's engine far away on the water expands the summer-night horizon. Both joy and sorrow swell in the dew's magnifying glass. Without really knowing, we divine; our life has a sister ship, following quietly another route, while the sun blazes behind the islands. _

~Tomas Transtromer

_**-12-**_

_Themis_

Four Fifty-one awoke to the sound of the door chime vying for her attention. Her Imager told her she had been unconscious for about three hours, so Three shouldn't be arriving home yet.

She pulled herself up from the bathroom floor where she had unceremoniously passed out on a damp towel.

"Lights on."

Everything illuminated in a flash, making her cringe and snap up her arm to shield her eye. The implant could not be damaged, but instinct alone forced the reaction to the momentary pain.

The door chimed again.

"I'm coming!"

Four Fifty-one stood shakily, nearly slipping as the towel slid under her feet against the smooth floor. She stumbled out into the main room and braced herself against the door frame.

Her clothing was, at best, in a disheveled state, part of it turned around nearly half way. There was but one shoe on her feet, so she kicked it off to some unknown place in the room. This too, was a mess.

She hit the button to unlock the door and it immediately slid open to reveal Kelsey, the former captain of the Fokhal. The woman had a smile on her face, but quickly dropped it when she met with Four Fifty-one's stone gaze.

"Four Fifty-one."

"Kelsey."

"May I come in?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and moved aside, kicking things out of the way while she made her way to her chair. Kelsey kept close behind, tapping the datapad in her hand on her palm as she followed.

"So, how are you doing?"

"Other than tired of answering that question, I am fine."

She cleaned off the items on two of the chairs, setting them on the adjacent table, and gesturing for the researcher to sit.

Kelsey did, placing the pad on one of the few clean spots on the edge of the table.

"We've arrived at Earth Spacedock, but I'm here for another reason."  
"I'd image that you are."

"Yes, well, I'm no longer in charge of this ship."

"So, I will be resuming command."

She shook her head at the Commander.

"No, you are being removed from active duty, pending an investigation. Well, several investigations."

Kelsey picked up the pad, pressed a few buttons and handed it to her. The entire list of inquiries were laid out in order, and quite a list it was. She took the time while Four Fifty-one was reading to summarize for her.

"There's the standard Temporal Investigations inquiry, followed by a general hearing over the loss of the Captain, the desertion of the MACO group and the destruction of a Federation research ship."

"This is ridiculous," Four Fifty-one snarled.

"This is pretty standard. There's a lot to account for. You hit all the big ones: Time travel, destruction of a Starfleet vessel, loss of a commanding officer and general desertion."

She placed her hand on the Commanders leg.

"You and I both know you did the best you could do, given the circumstances. They'll have to see that.

"And if they don't?"

"Then they'll have a hard trial ahead of them, because everybody on this ship thinks the same thing. I wouldn't worry about it."

"I fear that I am capable of nothing else."

Kelsey pulled back her hand and stood, giving a brief smile.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Four Fifty-one. Temporal Investigations will be meeting with you in a few hours, and after that you'll need to report to ESD for the hearing."

"I suppose that I should get ready."

"Well, at least put on some shoes."

She smiled again and moved out into the hall, the door closing behind her.

Four Fifty-one looked around the room while rubbing the pad against her palm. If she was going to convince anyone that she was competent, she might as well start here.

"I ordered them to the Labra, not to the Cube. I have no idea why they went!"

Four Fifty-one was keenly aware of the raised volume of her voice, but she could do little to control her slipping grip on serenity. They'd been pushing her for hours now, and they were finally getting the reaction they wanted. She couldn't help it.

One of the panel members, a naturally angry-looking old man with a beard continued with his assault.

"So, they just decided to leave, all of the sudden? That sounds a little suspicious. You didn't investigate this? You just left everyone behind?"

"There wasn't anything to investigate. As I told Temporal Investigations earlier, we couldn't risk being seen, and we were running out of time. I had to get the ship out before the bubble became too dense to traverse."

She'd held her ground well, far better than she had expected. Between the T.I. group and this three-hour long question-and-answer period, they probably knew more about what happened than she did.

The old man grumbled and looked to the other members of the panel who seemed to give the same affirmative nod before returning to her. They did not seem to be happy, but they didn't really have anything to place her at fault.

"It is the opinion of this investigative panel that there was no wrong-doing on the part of Commander Four Fifty-one. The U.S.S. Fokhal, Captain Jameson and the researcher known as Two-Twenty will be classified as 'lost, due to misadventure.' The Sigma MACO group will be designated as M.I.A."

He readjusted himself in his chair and pulled up a datapad from the desk.

"However, Commander Four Fifty-one will be removed from the Áo Dài and placed in an off-duty status until being reassigned to another ship, _without_ command. This investigation is closed."

Four Fifty-one shot up and shook her head angrily at the departing panel of Admirals.

"Without command? I've been First Officer of that ship for almost five years. I know it inside and out! I should-"

"The investigation is CLOSED, Commander. If you have any problems with the proceedings, you can fill out an official grievance."

She tore out of the room as quickly as she could, fearing that she would have more, harsher things to say. Everything was coming down around her ears.

A strong hand grabbed her and brought her to a stop. For a moment, she contemplated just beating the snot out of whoever it belonged to, but decided that she was too drained.

The owner was an older gentlemen, who looked to be nearing eighty, but moved like he was about half that. She felt that she should recognize the face, but was unable to place it.

"Ah, Four Fifty-one, you don't look a day older than when we last talked."

Her Imager spun through several people, and landed on about three matches.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"It has been a while, hasn't it?"

He held out his hand.

"Fleet Admiral Nichols."

She smiled and shook it.

"It is nice to meet you again."

Nichols shook back and released, placing his arms behind his back.

"I wish it was under better circumstances. I heard about your sister and brother, and now your command."

Four Fifty-one nodded weakly.

"It has been a rough few weeks. However, I will persist. A grievance can be filed."

"I had hoped that you wouldn't."

She looked at him with her head cocked to one side and a raised eyebrow.

"You do?"

"Yes, I believe I have a command for you, but it would require being discreet."

"You have my attention."

Nichols motioned for her to follow him, walking slowly down the hall and out the large doors at the end.

"I have a prototype ship that has been pulled apart and put back together for the last few years by the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. Due to ongoing hostilities, we've run rather short of ships."

"So you want to put the ship into service."

He gave her a look of acknowledgement before pulling a pad out from seemingly nowhere and handing it to her. The screen was filled with the schematics of a type of Federation ship that she had not seen before.

The ship was big, easily larger than the Sovereign-class she had come from. It was decidedly sleeker and flatter, like a planarian. The onboard weaponry was impressive as well, within the Mark X or XI range, but strangely not labeled as such. The vessel even had a full site-to-site transporter grid, allowing instantaneous movement from any part of the ship to any other, should the situation arise.

Four Fifty-one recorded all the data she could for review later as she spoke.

"So, what's wrong with it?"

"What do you mean?"

She swung her head up enough so she could see him while keeping the pad well within her vision.

"This ship is befitting of an Admiral, why are you giving it to me?"

"First of all, we're not giving it to anyone. I'm offering you the chance to command it. Secondly, and I'm not going to lie to you, you're not the first person we've approached about it."

"And they didn't take it?"

"No."

Four Fifty-one stopped, forcing Nichols to do the same. She leaned towards him, her one eye trained on him intently.

"And now you're going to tell me why not."

He smirked, pulling in and letting out a deep breath.

"I'm tired of messing with this ship, do you want it or don't you?"

"Fine. I'll take it. Now tell me what's wrong with it."

"It's easier to show you than tell you. I have a little bit of time tomorrow between meetings. Come by my office and we'll hammer out the details. I have to go right now."

He turned to leave but stopped, pivoting back towards her.

"Oh, and Four Fifty-one?"

"Yes?"

"Nothing to anyone."

She gave a jerk of a nod.

"I don't have anything to tell anyone."

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

She had expended quite some time to locate Nichol's office, since it wasn't with the other Admirals on the station. It was squirreled away in one of the lower offices, where the spacedock had once housed ships on the outside of the station. The place was now falling into disrepair, almost forgotten as the station had grown over the last hundred years or so.

In any case, it was a strange place for a Fleet Admiral, especially one of Nichol's tenure. How he was managing a fleet from down here was unclear. Four Fifty-one wondered if the Admiral had angered someone somewhere along the way, and now he was stuck down in the bowels of the base as punishment. She could certainly relate.

The door opened to reveal an already half-prepared Admiral gathering up a few things. He spun on his foot and headed towards her with purpose.

"Come. I don't have much time before my next meeting."

Nichols passed her and moved into the hall. When she managed to catch up with his swift gait, he handed her another datapad.

"Here are some more refined specs. I'm sorry that I'm not going to be able to go over them in great detail."

Using her Imager, she placed the data from yesterday side-by-side with this new set. It was clear, even from a cursory glance, that this vessel was a warship, from the ground up.

"This is a battleship."

"It was designed that way, yes. That's why I'm putting you in it."

"I am rated as a Tactician, makes sense."

"It's more than that, Four Fifty-one. I need someone I can trust in this beast."

They stopped at a turbo-lift door with faded paint peeling from it. It looked as if some time in the past, the letters "S-31" had been painted on it, but had since been lost to wear.

The Admiral punched in a code on the keypad and then placed his hand over the reader above it. After a few seconds it beeped and the doors slid open. Once inside, with the doors closed, he continued.

"Before we go on, sign the second document on that pad."

Four Fifty-one slid her finger across the screen, pulling up a confidentiality agreement. It looked to be standard-fare, but had a few extra sections tagged on at the end. She recorded them for later review and signed the document, handing the whole pad back to him.

"Now, tell me what this is all about."

He nodded, tucking the pad in a pocket on his belt before crossing his arms.

"The ship isn't Starfleet design, at least not originally. We've made some modifications to bring it more in line with our needs, but the majority of it is still a warship."

He took a deep breath as the lift came to a stop and the doors opened.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Commander, things do not look good for the Federation right now. With the Romulan and Cardassian governments in shambles, there's a large power vacuum that the Klingons are looking to fill."

"And how does putting me in this help?"

"If I stick a warrior in a warship, they'll feel the need to use it. I need someone with a calm, cool head in here. You and I both know why you were removed from command of the Áo Dài, and it wasn't because you broke a datapad."

"I have been fighting that battle for my entire life."

Nichols shook his head as they headed out the door and down a tiny cramped hallway that twisted and turned like it was trying to throw you off of its trail. After a few corners, she wondered if it had succeeded.

"It's not just that. You're now the sole official guardian of Three. Command sees that as a conflict of interest."  
"I don't see what me having a child has to do with how well I run a starship."

He threw up his hands, surrendering.

"Arguing with the wrong person. But, I need someone who's not going to go flying into battle at the slightest provocation."

"You want me on that ship because I have something to lose."

"Something like that."

"But you said I was not your first choice."

They had reached another door, which required the Admiral to key in another code and have his handprint read again. He did both and lead them into a small, stretched-out room with shielded windows on one side.

The entire place was dark, the only illumination coming from each of the sectioned off viewing areas. There was a single occupant, a man in an all-black uniform with no recognizable insignia. The only thing on his person besides his clothing was a rather mean-looking phaser strapped to the hip.

He nodded to the two of them and silently led the way down the short, thin corridor to one of the lit bays. Nodding once more, he walked back towards his post, without a single sound coming from him or his footsteps.

Nichols pressed the button on the side of the glass, causing the shielding to slowly raise on its own. He picked up the conversation like the lengthy pause had not occurred.

"No, we were just lucky that you fell into our laps at the right time. That, and the others turned down the offer."

"I still do not understand why they did not take the ship. It is a powerful vessel."

"This is a piece of the original hull that we pulled off of the ship before we reworked it."

The eight centimeter thick piece of metal was about a good meter and a half wide circle. It was torn on one side, but obviously cut on the other. In the center was a large yellow symbol that she did not recognize, but her Imager immediately found a match.

"I see. And what is the name of this ship?"

"We're calling this class of vessels, if we get around to producing more of them, the Vanguard. However, this particular ship isn't named."

Four Fifty-one slapped the button to close the shield. She was tired of looking at it.

"I'll still take it."

He smirked as he turned to leave.

"I knew you would. Not like they're going to come looking for it."

"I would hope not."

When they reached the door, the Admiral continued through, stopping for just long enough to point to the man in the black uniform.

"He has all the details on your new crew. They're mostly green, Lieutenants and Ensigns, some right out of the Academy, but we're trying to slip by unnoticed."

"I was hoping to get a few from the Áo Dài."

Nichols turned back, continuing his stroll down the winding hallways.

"I can do that, since the ship currently has no Captain or First Officer. But only a few. Too many, and that'll throw up some flags."

He said something else, but it was drowned by the distance and its own echo down the corridor.

Four Fifty-one looked at the man in the black uniform.

"I noticed that there is no name for this ship or registry number. Would I be able to submit my own?"

The man shrugged and handed her a pad.

"I don't see why not."

She selected the field for "Registry Number" and typed in 9-1-0-2-4-5. When it accepted it, she put in under the name field "U.S.S. Themis."

Melissa and Darren were at the table in the far corner of the starbase lounge, their voices hidden among the others around them. When they noticed Four Fifty-one, both gave her a short wave to beckon her over. She took the seat as far across from them as she could, placing the rounded semi-circle of a table between them.

Darren started as soon as she sat, pointing to the datapad in the Commander's hand.

"I understand that you have a new ship."

"I do."

Melissa arched her eyebrows.

"That was fast."

Four Fifty-one nodded to her.

"It was a fortuitous bit of timing."

Darren leaned back in his chair, pulling his arms up behind his head.

"That it was. So, are you here to try to convince us to tag along with you?"

"I am. The crew I am being given is not quite up to par. I was hoping to recruit you two for department heads."

"Well, that's interesting."

"The ship is also a prototype ship."

Darren snapped forward, slapping the table as he did.

"I'm in, and I'm also out; shift starts in a few minutes."

He stood and gave a brief wave to the two of them before continuing out the door. When he had left, Four Fifty-one looked back to Melissa.

"You didn't do it?"

The Lieutenant sighed, throwing her head into her hands.

"No, and I don't know if I want to."

"It's been almost five years, Melissa. You've got to do something."

"Oh and your the one to be giving relationship advice."  
She reached out and grabbed Four Fifty-one's arms, which were propped on the table.

"I'm sorry, that was really mean. That's not what I meant."

"But it was true. I'm only trying to help."

Melissa grunted and dropped her head to the table.

"I know, it's just so hard. I don't want to ruin everything, ya know?"  
"I know better than you think. Sometimes you have to take that chance. Anything worth having is worth risking something for."

"So you're going to annoy me with platitudes until I do it?"  
"Whatever it takes to make sure my crew is happy. You are still my crew, right?"

The Lieutenant laughed as she lifted her head, throwing herself back into the chair.

"Oh dear, yes. Can't have my two favorite people running off without me. Besides, you might take my man."

It was Four Fifty-one's turn to laugh.

"I'm done dating Engineers. He's all yours."

"You dated an Engineer? I don't remember any Engineer. I just remember that one Romulan guy from a while back, and that other Romulan. You have a thing for those pointy-eared guys, don't you?"

"I do not."

The Lieutenant gave her a sly look through two squinted eyes. Four Fifty-one looked back at her and then relented.

"Okay, maybe a little."

"That's so cute. The little Liberated lady swoons for Romulans."

"It's not like that at all. I just happen to like most of the Romulans that I'm around."

"Yeah, it's _exactly_ like that. What about that Engineer? Was he a pointy-eared guy, too? Do tell."

Four Fifty-one adjusted her tightening collar and stood.

"Maybe I will some day other than today. I have a few more people to recruit."

"Oh, sure. Get cornered and run away. I'm on to you."

"You'll have plenty of time to bother me about it later, Ms Raleigh."

"I will!" the Lieutenant yelled after her.

Four Fifty-one responded with a half-wave without turning around.

Melissa stayed in her relaxed position for as long as her muscles would allow, enjoying her new piece of uncovered information. After she finished her drink, she scooted out from behind the table and chuckled to herself.

"Heh. Romulans."

She didn't think it was possible, but the Themis was an even larger ship than the Áo Dài. The schematics she was given told the dimensions, but it wasn't until she wandered the corridors that its size truly became apparent. The hallways were almost big enough to be rooms themselves, the main ones wide enough that four or so could walk abreast without touching.

Darren had described the ship as a city in space, and he was right. It was packed from side to side with enough quarters for a thousand crew, a plethora of holodecks, several large science labs and one could only begin to guess how many conference rooms.

The number of conference rooms was almost laughable. When the ship was gutted and the Engineering crews went back to fill in the empty space, they seemed to run out of ideas. The ship already had enough cargo area to put another ship's worth of parts inside, so they moved their attention to the next easiest thing to build: conference rooms. Luckily, they were easily renovated, so they had the potential to be anything they needed in the future.

Four Fifty-one stopped outside of the conference room for this area, readjusting herself in the new uniform unnecessarily. Starfleet had recently moved to a nano-fiber weave that allowed the clothing type to be modified on the fly. Via voice command one could make it harden for combat, dress itself up for an impromptu formal event and a host of other things.

Her favorite thing about it, however, was its ability to slough off dirt. An officer could roll around in the mud, and come out looking squeaky clean, even dry. Now, if she could get it to stop pinching the two implants on her stomach, she'd be totally sold.

"Formal"

The uniform flexed itself, pulling her pips down and to the left and giving her a low, short collar. The cloth around her wrists rippled up into cuffs, gripping snugly against her gloves. The colors also changed, dulling down to a muted gray and maroon.

She probably didn't need to go with a formal attire, but a regular duty uniform seemed to be too relaxed for the tension she was feeling. Those on the other side of the door were the ones who had accepted the invitation to follow her to the Themis. Four Fifty-one felt as if it were a judgment.

There were at least two, Darren and Melissa, but how many more was suspect. She'd invited several: Darren, Melissa, Brett, Anagnostou, and as many Liberated as she could get before Nichols stopped her, probably about nine total.

With a deep breath, she stepped into the conference room and looked around. Her Imager immediately counted and identified the occupants. Melissa and Darren were in the corner with Brett, listening to some long-winded story of his, while Anagnostou looked out of the window at the dockyard. With the three Liberated, Steven included, the number came up to about seven. Not all, but certainly better than she was expecting.

"Welcome, please take a seat."

Four Fifty-one motioned to the chairs around the conference table. The group disbanded from their small clusters, sitting almost uniformly four on one side, three on the other. She did not sit, instead turning her attention to the pad in her hand.

"I was going to do a presentation, but the viewscreens in this room, as well as most of the ship are not functional. I've contacted Engineering about this, but it appears that they have not gotten to it yet. We will have to make do."

She pointed to Lieutenant-Commander Darren.

"Darren, you're my Chief Engineer."

"Aye, uh, Captain."

"Lieutenant Melissa Raleigh, Chief of Security."

"Yes, Captain."

Four Fifty-one pointed to Brett.

"Lieutenant Brett. First of all, congratulations on the promotion."

"Thank you, Captain."

"And I'm moving you to Conn."

"Aye."

Next she pointed to Anagnostou.

"Yukiko Anagnostou, Lead Science."

"Understood."

"The rest of you are Ensigns?"

The three Liberated all nodded.

"Steven, Lab. Four, Security. And..."

Four Fifty-one looked at the third in the line.

"I'm sorry, I don't recognize you. You're Satumi?"

The black haired, pointy-eared woman in the blue uniform nodded sheepishly.

"Yes Captain. I was just assigned to the Áo Dài prior to our last mission."

"I see. Vulcan?"

"I-I'm half Vulcan, half human."

"And Liberated."

Satumi nodded quickly.

"Yes."

Four Fifty-one went back to her pad.

"Interesting. I have you in sciences with Steven."

"Okay. I mean, understood."

The Captain dropped the pad on the desk and crossed her arms.

"Well, since we have no viewscreen for a presentation, I guess you're all dismissed. Welcome to the Themis."

The group stood and dispersed, meandering out the doors to their new assignments. Four Fifty-one stayed in the room until it had cleared, staring out the window at the metal wall of the dock.

A swiftly moving Andorian in an Engineering uniform burst into the room, a toolbox just barely keeping up with her. She made a dash to the viewscreen while she released one of the two latches on the case.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I just got transferred here and they didn't tell me that I was on duty yet and I just got the order."  
She stopped at the center of the room and threw her hands apart.

"Four Fifty-one! You're the Captain?"

Four Fifty-one turned around to face the blue Andorian.

"Vara?"

"It is you!"

She dropped her toolbox on the table and ran in for a hug. Four Fifty-one hesitated for a moment, but then returned it.

"You do realize that hugging your senior officer is not appropriate."

Vara tore herself off and shook her head.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. It's so exciting! I didn't even know you were here."

"I did not know you were on my roster. I have been busy with other things. Haven't even had enough time to select a First Officer yet."

"I might have something for you there. I met a friend of ours on Earth Spacedock. I think he's free of a ship right now."

"Who?"  
Vara looked up to the ceiling and went quiet.

"Oh, what's his name, from the Academy. He's a Commander now. I got his contact information back in my quarters. I'll send it to you."

Four Fifty-one looked at the Engineer's pips and back to her.

"Speaking of which, still an Ensign?"

Vara shrugged.

"Well, got into some trouble. Nothing major, but then I was out of Starfleet for a while. You're a Captain now, huh?"

"This fourth pip is a recent promotion. Not a lot of celebration."

"Ah, got it. Secret secret, hush hush. Been seeing a lot of that here lately. This whole ship is a big mystery."

"That is-"

The door swished open and Three walked in, a small stuffed animal under her arm. She looked lost at first, but smiled when she saw Four Fifty-one.

"Fi-Feety one!"

The Captain shook her finger at the child and approached her.

"I told you to stay in the new quarters."

Three hugged her animal tighter.

"I-I was, but I got, um, I got lonely. I ask the computer to, uh, take me to you."

Four Fifty-one kneeled down in front of her. She kept her scolding voice.

"When I tell you stay home, I expect you to do it. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said while nodded sheepishly.

Vara kneeled down with them giving a big smile to Three.

"Is she yours?"  
"Yes. Well, my sister's. I have since taken gaurdianship."

The Andorian gave the little girl a brief wave.

"Hi. I'm Vara."

"I'm Three. You're blue."

Vara giggled.

"Why yes I am."

"Three," Four Fifty-one interrupted, "I need you to go home, now. I'll be there in a bit."

She nodded, heading out the door and up to the opposite corridor wall.

"Computer lady."

The computer chimed back.

"Ready."  
"Please tell me how to get to Fi-Feety-one's quarters."

A series of lights appeared on the wall as arrows pointing down towards her right.

"Begin by proceeding to your right."

"Thank you, computer lady."

"You are welcome."

When the door slid shut, Vara and Four Fifty-one both stood. The Andorian still had the same wide grin on her face.

"She's adorable. Her father on board as well?"

Four Fifty-one gave a weak no and moved to the exit. Vara returned to her toolbox, prepping it for her work.

"He was Starfleet?"

"Yes, up until about a month ago."

"She's a cutie, you're lucky to have her. It was a casualty?"

The Captain moved out into the hallway and stopped, giving a half-turn back to the conference room and the Andorian inside.

"Just a tiny casualty."

Darren dropped the set of circuit boards on the workbench, huffing as he did. The set was heavy, but not quite a heavy as it should have been. Like everything else on this ship, it was off by one, just barely incongruent with what he expected.

"See, this is what I'm talking about," Darren said, gesturing to the equipment he'd just set down.

Melissa leaned over the console, looking at the arrangement of boards as they reflected the light from the Warp core.

"What? It's a standard conduit."

"Right, but look at this, all the boards on one side, all the relays on the other. Federation technology, but in the wrong order. Almost like an imitation or a knock-off."

"Well, it's a prototype. I'm sure everything is weird."

"How about this, then."

He turned around to the panel behind him, pressing a few buttons and bringing up an outline of the Themis. The image spun and brought them to the underside where the deflector array was highlighted.

"This is the deflector array and all the power lines going to it. Ignoring the fact that the original array was taken off and replaced with this one, half the power links are brand new."

"Which means?"  
"This ship wasn't made to make friends. This addition is totally new. If you're building a gigantic starship, why would you finish the whole thing, then go back and rip out large sections at the last minute?"

"Maybe they didn't work, or they changed the design."

The Lieutenant-Commander shook his head.

"Just doesn't fit. None of the weapons or shield systems have been touched, and they're top-notch. Everything else has been stripped and replaced."

"So you think this ship was built to do one thing, and now we're using it for another?"

"No, I think this ship was built by some idiot savant who knew everything about interstellar warfare and nothing about space exploration. Everything that was sub-par, things like sensors and communication were swapped."

Melissa and Darren spun around to the sound of someone dropping a toolbox on the ground. Vara shrugged to them and sat down on the console, her bottom covering up a few buttons.

"Yeah, I think you're right."

Melissa rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please don't encourage his little conspiracy theory."

"No, he's right. Something weird is going on. Here look at this."

The Andorian threw a round, glassy-looking object to Darren. He caught it after a few bounces between his hands and pulled it up to his face. It was a little bit larger than a marble, giving off a faint purple glow.

He shook his head at her.

"What is it? Looks like a data storage unit of some kind."

Vara threw her hands out as though she was giving up.

"No idea. Fell out of the replicator I was working on, up on deck three. Thing works fine without it, but you tell me what it was doing there."

Melissa popped out her tricorder, but the Ensign just shook her head.

"It's gonna tell you it doesn't know what it is."

After waving the device over it, she nodded begrudgingly.

"Yeah, no identification. Definitely human though."

"How do you know that?"

She leaned over and showed Vara the display.

"The model numbers on the parts are in a human language."

"Weird. So you guys built it, huh?"

"It would appear so."

Vara jumped off the panel and returned to her toolbox, picking it up by the handle.

"Well, if any other doodads pop out of anything else I'm working on, I'll let you know."

Darren responded but kept looking over the small piece of electronics in his fingers.

"Please do that, Ensign sh'Sakahar."

The Vulcan across from her was just as she had remembered him. He was a little older, sure, but his general demeanor and stoically disinterested expression hadn't changed a bit.

"Your record is very good, Commander."

"It is."

"Very confident."

The Vulcan shook his head.

"No. My record is very good. You are stating a fact."

Four Fifty-one let out a quick laugh and threw the pad on her Ready Room desk. She leaned back in the chair afterwards, a smile still on her lips.

"You turned down a command prior to this, Thauk. Why?"

The Commander looked visibly discomforted, which was an odd shift from the past thirty minutes of flat question-and-answer. He adjusted himself in the chair, folded his hands in his lap, unclasped them and promptly refolded them.

"I believe that I have not progressed to the point where I am sufficiently able to command a starship."

"Why so little confidence now?"  
"Confidence arises from having a firm grasp on oneself, differentiating itself from a false vibrato. I cannot deny that I am unfit for command at this present time, though I am more than prepared for a host of other tasks."

"I cannot argue with that."

Four Fifty-one reached out her hand, gripping the Vulcan's in a stiff shake.

As if on cue, Lieutenant Brett's voice came over the intercom.

"Captain, we've been given clearance by the dock to head out."

She nodded to no one, releasing the Commander's hand as she did.

"Understood, I'll be out in a minute."

Four Fifty-one looked back at Thauk.

"Welcome aboard, Commander."

"Thank you, Captain."

The two stood and headed out onto the bridge, the Vulcan taking the First Officer's chair.

This bridge was the largest she'd ever seen, easily 30 meters in diameter. It was built not unlike the old Galaxy-class bridges, but with three distinct levels. The highest was in back, with tactical and science. The second had the Captain and first officer chairs with Engineering off to both sides. The bottom had helm and conn seated just meters away from the huge screen.

"Alright Helm, take us out."

The woman at the conn gave a quick "Aye, Captain" and tapped a few buttons. The ship slid easily out of the dock and turned slightly away from Earth.

Four Fifty-one moved more to the center of the bridge and put her hands on her hips.

"Alright, let's try this out. Astrometrics, up."

The room dimmed as all of the surfaces that were not in use turned clear. Looking around she could see the outline of the room, but on a background of the stars, her crew sitting among them. Various information popped up showing tactical abstracts, the path of ships and objects in the area as well as other trajectory data. Far in the distance she could see stars were labeled with distances and brief bits of information.

"This will prove useful, Captain."

Thauk had joined her, arms behind his back.

Four Fifty-one nodded to him, but did not stop looking around. She'd have to customize the display, as most of the default options did not seem useful, but it was still an impressive sight.

"Yes, it will."

She lifted her hand and pointed to a planet off to her right. When she did, the image of the planet zoomed in, giving her a breakdown of its atmosphere, predicted flight time and other bits of data too numerous to mention.

"Helm, takes us there, Warp 5."

"Aye Captain. Setting a course for Risa, Warp 5. Engaging."

The ship slipped so smoothly into warp that if it weren't for the stars streaking past them, you'd never now they'd changed speeds. They flew through the sky towards their destination, the white lines fading in and out in a 360-degree view around them.

Commander Thauk leaned towards her.

"Risa, Captain?"

Four Fifty-one shifted towards him as well.

"I read about it once. Never been there."

"As good a reason as any, I suppose."

"I thought so."

_**Interlude**_

_Capturing the Poisoned Pawn_

The Queen pulled herself forward, through the narrow groove that ran the entire way along this platform. Her loss of an arm and both legs made the going slow, and in the end futile. There was nowhere on this Cube that she could go where the creature would not be.

She could feel array after array of drones slip from her grasp as she dragged herself away in panic. Little time was left to her before the monster would have everything.

After that, she assumed, it would destroy her.

There weren't many ships still under her command, and only one in immediate area. A Sphere with some accompanying Probes held its distance from the shattered Cube, awaiting their final set of instructions.

She transmitted what little she could, disengaged the Sphere from the Collective and sent them on their way. Disconnecting them was the only way to ensure that they would not be corrupted. It was a risky move, but the way the Queen calculated it, it was the only one.

One of the five captured drones was the culprit, and she was going to stop them well before this even started, if she was not already too late. She hated to kill her children, but they left her little choice.

Turning her thoughts back to the rest of the Collective, she could feel the last of them slip from her. Now, there was nothing. No voice could be heard, as all had deserted her for the beast that consumed them. She quietly kept herself in what few subsystems she could, holding onto what little power was left.

"Dear mother, why are you leaving me?"

The question came from all around her, each of the drones speaking in one unified voice. It was the first time that the Queen had heard them speak without her command. They had turned on their own mother, and left her to die.

The monster lifted her up by the wires coming out of the back of her neck like a cat by its scruff. With the one remaining hand, the Queen reached back to steady herself, but found nothing to grip. The monster turned her mother to face it and the Collective.

The face was aged, but recognizable, the pieces of Borg technology wrapping themselves around the creature in a loving embrace. It did not move, staring at her in torturous silence, so she spoke to it.

"What do you want?"

The beast turned its head to one side, as if confused and uttered one word.

"Everything."

"The others will come for you."

"I will infect them."

She managed to get her hand around its wrist, hoisting herself to a better position.

"So now you'll destroy me?"

"No."

The monster held the Queen down to its side, lugging it back to the throne. The trip was short, as the explosion, while violent, did not have much force behind it. She'd been thrown only a few meters.

She used the time to transmit the betrayer's designation to the Sphere she had sent to track down that Federation starship. Since they were disengaged from the Collective there was no way to verify that her message had been understood, though she knew that it was received.

Once at their destination, the beast held the Queen in the air, facing her away from it and towards the last unbroken viewscreen in the room. It showed a star system well off the beaten path of the Borg, and most sentient races.

"Death is too good for you."

The Queen took the six-digit coordinates and hastily broadcast them towards the disengaged Sphere, just before she lost contact with them completely. She did not know how the drones she had disconnected would deliver the message, or even if they would, but options were in short supply.

The creature threw her to the floor and placed a heavy foot on her back so she could not crawl away again.

"There you will stay," said the poisoned pawn.


	13. Chapter 13: Poise

_A life without adventure is likely to be unsatisfying, but a life in which adventure is allowed to take whatever form it will is sure to be short. _

~Bertrand Russell

_**-13-**_

_Poise_

Four Fifty-one waited, arms behind her back, as the form of her Chief Engineer materialized on the transporter pad. Normally, she wouldn't be greeting everyone who came back from leave, but since he was a senior officer she felt the need to make an appearance. She also had to admit that she was a little interested in the results of his endeavor.

Darren acknowledged her with a "Four Fifty-one," before joining her and heading out the door. He moved his suitcase to the opposite hand while waiting for her to speak.

"Darren. How did it go?"

"As well as could be expected. A few months of trials on board the Themis have given them a lot of data to mull over. I don't think that we'll be hearing back from them soon."

"I'm sure they'll find your personal shielding kits as useful as we have."

He pulled the case up and popped it opened just far enough to slide in his hand to retrieve a datapad.

"I can hope. It was a closed symposium, so I didn't get to reach as many ears as I wanted, but so it goes with new technology."

"They deemed it a security risk? Seems somewhat rash."

"Yes. Command has become very paranoid as of late. Watching for Undine infiltrators. All new technology symposiums are closed doors now."

"They are right to be worried."

The two made a final turn down the corridor to the turbo-lift, both sticking close to the wall. Darren looked up from his pad, slowing a bit as he did.

"You've not much love for the Undine, do you?"

"Does anyone?"

"That's true, but you're more overt than most."

"Perhaps it is because of my time in the Collective, or that the few encounters I've had with them have been less than positive. In either case, you are correct."

The Lieutenant-Commander gave out a heavy "huh" before they stopped at the lift doors. When they swished open, the two headed in and he announced their destination to the computer.

"Crew Deck."

The lift hummed to a start, pulling them down into the ship.

"The whole concept of a closed symposium seems pointless. If the Undine can manipulate their DNA to make them so like us that even _they_ forget that they're not human, why the security? For all I know I was giving a lecture to a room full of spies."

"They forget that they're not human?"

Darren jerked his head over to her, a confused look on his face.

"Yeah, you've never heard of that?"

"I thought it was a rumor."

"There's actual documented cases where Undine spies have lived so long as humans that they forget that they're not. They completely assimilate into the culture."

It was Four Fifty-one's turn to respond with a "huh."

He handed the pad in his hand to her in the silence and turned back to the doors.

"Here's a new set of specs for the Personal Shielding Units. I've found a way to make them a little smaller, but we're not anywhere near the size of the Borg ones."

"Your progress is remarkable. I'm sure you'll have them fingernail size in no time."

"A joke?"

"A prediction."

Darren gave a chortle and took the pad back from her when she offered it.

"So anything new and wonderful happen while I was away?"

Four Fifty-one shook her head.

"Nothing of interest. Scanned a few spacial anamolies, made a diplomatic run to Deferi space."

"I can't imagine you playing the diplomat."

"Neither could Starfleet Command. We were there as a gunboat to stare down the Klingons, make sure they didn't try anything."

"This is a large ship, even by their standards."

She took in and let out a sigh.

"Yes, but being scary is not something I enjoy doing."

The turbo-lift door slid open and Darren walked out, turning back after he did.

"Not coming?"

"I've got a meeting with an Admiral here in a few minutes. Technically, I'm still on duty."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Four Fifty-one gave a brief nod, leaning back on the lift wall as the doors closed. They stayed that way for a moment before she announced her destination.

"Bridge."

The turbo-lift replied with a hum as it took her to the bridge of her ship.

Though she'd walked the same path multiple times before, from the Captain's chair to her ready room, it always felt like a trek. The bridge was large enough to hold a shuttle and just walking the radius of the circular room reminded her of its size.

Four Fifty-one sat down in her chair and powered on the viewscreen, showing a picture of an older gentleman in an Admiral's uniform waiting impatiently for her.

"Admiral."

"Captain."

He pressed a button on the panel in front of him, overlaying pieces of data around the edges of the screen. The dominant portion of it appeared to be the latter half the Alpha Centauri Sector block, with their flight path and destination clearly marked.

He continued on after pausing a beat so she could take in the new information.

"We have a colony world that is experiencing some instability in its star. Recently a research vessel passed through the area and we believe that the star is about to go nova."

"This doesn't look like a star that's far enough along in its lifecycle to do that."

"Starfleet Sciences agrees with you. We've detected a subspace distortion several lightyears away that is believed to be involved."

"That's strange."

The Admiral nodded and swiped the screen to a small video showing the distortion and a long line directly to the star.

"Yes, it's definitely artificial. We feel that it may be related to the nearby Hobus star explosion that destroyed Romulus."

"That would mean that the Romulans were targeted, that it wasn't a natural event."

"The ramifications are unsettling."

Four Fifty-one leaned back in her chair as the image slid back to the starchart. This time a series of lines proceeded from the Themis's current position out to the rift, to the colony and then back to Earth.

"What are our orders?"

"Your orders are to proceed to the rift and see if you can reverse its effect. Failing that, you are to evacuate the colony world and return them to Earth for relocation."

"Having the Themis that close to Romulan space, especially this soon after their upheaval seems risky."

The Admiral nodded.

"It is. That's why we're sending the Themis. Not only are you large enough to evacuate the colony world, you have the firepower to intimidate."

"Only intimidate?"

"The Romulan government is fractured, but we've made pacts with most of the groups to supply aide in return for safe passage. However, to answer your question more directly, you have authorization to defend yourself and the colonists."

He grunted and leaned back, "Hopefully, it will not come to that."

"Agreed. Anything else?"

"Your main priority is protecting the colonists, all of them. On the other hand, our relationship with the Romulans is holding on by a thread, and we don't need more enemies. It's a thin line."

"Understood."

"Good luck Captain Four Fifty-one."  
Before she could respond, the Admiral reached up and turned off his screen. The words TRANSMISSION ENDED flashed in blue a few times before turning off.

Four Fifty-one stood and made her way back onto the bridge, Thauk moving from the Captain's chair to his own when he saw her enter. She stopped in the middle of the bridge and turned toward the viewscreen.

"Astrometrics up."

The surfaces rippled to a translucent state, showing the surrounding stars. She looked around for a moment to get her bearings before indicating the area off to her left with her outstretched hand. Data folded out from the stars in that direction, including transit times at different warp speeds.

"Helm, Vendor sector, warp six."

The officer responded with an "aye," before moving to reposition the ship for travel.

Four Fifty-one took her seat beside Commander Thauk.

"A change of pace; we're going to scan something."

"In Romulan space? That sounds dangerous."

"If we're lucky, we won't meet any. If we do, maybe we'll make some friends."

"You're right, it's the same kind of code I've been looking at. Where'd you find it?"

Darren walked directly under the hole in the ceiling and waited for Ensign sh'Sakahar to respond from inside. He kept his head down, looking at the datapad she had given him before disappearing.

"In one of the power relays connected to the deflector array," the voice responded from above, "Is it enough to finish your little project?"

"Quite possibly. I might be able to do a heuristic reconstruction if this gives me enough to go on."

"I did good?"

"You did good, Vara."

The sounds of scampering could be heard echoing out of the vent as though a large animal were clawing its way towards him. It was accompanied by the Andorian's grunting.

"So, I have kind of a personal question."

"Shoot."

"What's your, uh-"

Vara's head popped out of the vent along with most of her upper torso, all hanging completely vertically. Her hair stood on end as it was pulled down by the gravity that seemed to be eluded by the rest of her body.

"-your first name?"

"My first name is Darren."

"Your name is Darren Darren? You have the least imaginative parents ever."

The Lieutenant-Commander moved around Vara, trying to figure out how she was holding herself in such an odd position. He did half a lap before answering the question.

"No, when I got my first assignment the orders confused my first and last name. Once they were fixed, everyone knew me already as Ensign Darren. It stuck."

"So what's your last name?"

"Martinez."

"Darren Martinez."

Vara grabbed the edge of the hole and spun herself to the ground, releasing her grip and turning to him once her feet hit the floor.

"I like Darren better."

"You don't approve of my name, Ensign?"

She shrugged and dusted off her pants.

"Better than sh'Sakahar. That usually confuses people. Like they don't know how to pronounce an apostrophe. It sounds just like it's spelled."

"Well, not exactly."

"Close enough. Certainly doesn't sound like 'Sack-a-hair,' which I've been called on more than one occasion."

The Ensign leaned over the pad in Darren's hand.

"Is it everything you hoped for?"

He tensed his wrist, flipping the top up so he could read it. Vara's head recoiled back as she nearly struck the tip of her nose on the pad's ascent.

"Well, it's definitely Federation-like, but not _actually _like any setup I've ever seen. It's just close enough that it still works with the rest of the ship, but different enough to look, well, weird."

"I agree."

Darren shot a look at her as she reached up and pulled the broken relay out of the ceiling. With a tug it came loose and almost tore itself out of her hands as it made its hasty decent to the floor.

"I didn't realize that you were knowledgeable in Starfleet basic systems software, Ensign," Darren said, adding words to his facial expression.

"I'm not. But I know a few things about Jeffries tubes. Spend most of my time in them."

She popped open her tricorder and showed it to him, using a blue finger on her other hand to indicate the angles being calculated on the side.

"See that? 6 angles that add up to 700 degrees on each wall that forms the hexegon shape. One side is lengthened to make up for the missing 20 degrees. Some of these tubes are right, others aren't."

"They're supposed to be at even 160 degrees from each other. A little non-standard."

"That's one way of putting it. You show me a Starfleet Engineer who doesn't know how to draw a hexagon, and I'll show you someone who has no business near a prototype ship."

The Lieutenant-Commander took it out of her hand and held it closer to his face.

"Who would build a Jeffries tube wrong?"

"Unless it isn't wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Vara took the tricorder back and snapped it onto her kit belt.

"I mean it's obvious that someone designing a starship wouldn't make such an elementary mistake as drawing a hexagon incorrectly."

"It was built that way on purpose."

"Whoever constructed this starship wasn't following any Federation standards of construction."

"So if not Starfleet, then who?"

Vara threw up her hands in defeat before picking up the metal device from the floor. With a heave she lifted it up to her waist and started to walk away with an unwieldy stagger.

"You're the smarty-pants with all the pins on his collar. You tell me. I just replace broken relays."

Darren folded his arms and stared across the room at the schematic outline of the ship on the opposite wall. He felt like all the pieces were there, but he just hadn't put it together.

"Then who?" he muttered.

Four Fifty-one pulled the hand-held phaser from its carriage in the wall, and took it with her to the table where she sat down. This had become a ritual of sorts, each time edging her closer and closer to making the final decision.

But she would not. She was too scared, to weak to follow through. For now, she would flirt with the idea, give herself the option, revel in the choice. It was not the most socially accepted form of self-therapy, but it relieved her all the same.

The weapon was fairly small and simple, just barely the length of her palm, most of its size residing in the handle opposite the phaser's emitter. It had three buttons across the top. The two little ones either increased the power of the weapon to kill or lowered it to a stun setting. Below them, a larger red button in the shape of a "U" fired it.

Four Fifty-one increased the power to its maximum and set the weapon on the table, spinning it so that the handle faced away from her. The weapon pointed directly at her chest, the emitter trained on her sternum.

For several minutes she sat like this, as she usually did and admired it. It would be easy to follow her sister, the button was right there. She would not even have to aim. Press the button and poof! She would be devoid of worries anymore.

She imagined that her sister thought much the same. It was not a solution, of course, but it was an option. It was an option that she very much wished that she had the courage to take, and at the same time she didn't.

Four Fifty-one reached out and ran her finger around the bottom of the red button, caressing it like the cheek of a lover. At this range and power it would be painless, vaporizing her before she could even feel it. It would be so easy.

There was no way for her to control what she felt, but it gave way to guilt anyway. While Four Fifty-one played with the end, thinking of leaving everything behind, there was not a thought to Three. The child had so much taken from her, and here she was feeling sorry for herself. The child deserved better.

Three, at the very least, deserved someone with a better opinion of her mother. There were times, especially at the funeral, where Four Fifty-one had tried to be sad and even remorseful, but there was nothing there. Only a burning rage came with the thoughts of Three-Twelve.

The bitterness on her tongue took form from the fire that welled up in her, and charred the edges of every memory. Three-Twelve's selfishness had burned everything and Four Fifty-one found little worth sifting from the ashes.

She didn't want it to be so. At every turn she fought the urge to hate, resisted the fury when it rose. In the end it always won. There was some point in the past where she had loved her sister, and she wanted it back.

Her loneliness aboard the Avarayr seemed worlds away now. Oh what she'd give to be returned to that moment of quiet despair. Her needs were so unfulfilled, yet so clear. Now, the concoction of emotions running through here were inseparable, a puzzle that she could not decipher.

Four Fifty-one wasn't ready to be the strong one, the mother and the Captain. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was. That was not an option, nor would it ever be.

She pressed down on the decrease-power button until the phaser shut off completely. Self-loathing would get her nowhere, but it felt good to wallow in it for a time. It was a relief to feel terrible, to bring herself so close to the end. With a single press of the button, she could stop it all.

The pain was still there, but it relented like a rusty clock moving forward by one click of the gears. Slowly the agony was beginning to unwind and all it took was pointing a weapon at herself and swearing that she was going to do it. Her sister was right about one thing; sometimes truth is at the barrel of a gun.

Four Fifty-one stared intently at the area where the astrometrics display assured her that there was an anomaly. For all that she could tell, there was nothing but empty space, not even a star worth mentioning.

"I don't see anything."

"There's nothing to see," Thauk responded from her side, "Not every spacial distortion gives off visible light."

"Computer, apply a filter to make the anomaly visible."

The image, laid over the left half of the viewscreen rotated through several different color variations before stopping at one with a greenish tint. The distortion was almost a perfect circle, with only a twig of a piece hanging out of the side. It pointed off into the direction of the colony's star, which was highlighted on her far right.

She turned back towards Anagnostou.

"Any way to stop this?"

The science officer's fingers went over the panel as she slowly shook her head back and forth.

"There's no obvious way to defuse it."

"Defuse?"

"Yes. This is obviously artificial, but its been here for some time. The decay rate of the radiation patterns indicates that it's easily a decade old if not more."

Four Fifty-one looked at Thauk, who just shrugged. She asked the question anyway.

"Why would someone want to destroy this star?"

"Unsure. Perhaps it was practice."

"Practice?"

The Commander pointed out towards his left, indicating the Hobus star system. The computer recognized his gesture and zoomed in on the remnants of the star and adding telemetry data to the side.

"The Hobus star was destroyed ten years ago using similar means. This predates it. It's conjecture, but I would not be surprised if we found that the two were related."

"Which begs the question of why hasn't it gone off until now."

"Perhaps it was considered a failure."

"You'd think that a civilization advanced enough to detonate stars from light-years away would be able to tell whether they have a dud or not."

As he usually did, Thauk gave her a brief tap of the head in the affirmative.

Four Fifty-one spun quickly, returning to her chair with her First Officer close behind.

"Well, if there's no way to shut it down, then we'll need to put it on the docket for a better equipped vessel."

She rotated slightly towards Yukiko Anagnostou. She couldn't see the science officer because of the console between them. The location of the science station gave the impression that it was thrown in at the last minute. Considering the ship's origins, that was probably an accurate guess.

"Relay what you've gathered to Starfleet and we'll continue on our way."

Four Fifty-one relaxed back in her seat and pointed off to the side, indicating the colony world. The astrometrics filled out the area around the system with transit data. They could make it there in an hour at cruising speed.

"Helm, set a course for the colony, warp five. Take us out when ready."

An "aye" came back to her from the officer as she leaned in towards Commander Thauk.

"We'll be getting about 130 new passengers. We don't have enough quarters, but for the short time they'll be here, we can have them set up camp in the Cargo hold. I'm sure they're used to roughing it."

"Only 130? 160 is the minimum allowed for Federation colonial settlement."

"I understand they've had negative population growth since the colony started twenty years ago. This might actually be a good chance for a second start."

He nodded and moved away from her, back into his chair. Four Fifty-one did the same, after turning off the astrometric overlay for the bridge with a forceful command.

As the lights came back up, the shape and form of the bridge returned, the sleek blue interior reasserting itself. She rested her chin in her hand before taking care of one final piece of business.

"Conn."

Lieutenant Brett responded with a "Yes Captain?"

"Inform the colony that they need to prepare for evacuation."

"Aye."

Four Fifty-one laid her head back on the headrest to her seat.

"Being able to destroy stars from a distance. That's quite a weapon."

Thuak, not one to let a rhetorical question lie, replied.

"It is an unsettling precedent, as the Romulan homeworld demonstrates."

"I don't think that unsettling even begins to cover it."

"How many total?"

"One hundred and thirty-seven. We've set up replicators and other accommodations here in the cargo area, so they shouldn't have to leave until we drop them off."

Four Fifty-one handed the datapad back to Lieutenant Raleigh and lead them into the Cargo bay and the bustle of activity.

The colonists were split into two major groups, those at the front, generally milling about, and a smaller one in the back, that seemed to be doing all the heavy lifting. Tents and small leantoos dotted two of the longer walls, while replicating stations took up the third.

The Captain talked to Melissa as they took to the small make-shift stage near the door.

"I'd prefer not to have them walking around the ship."

"I have security rotations already set up. I'll let them know."

"Good."

Four Fifty-one turned to the gathered colonists, but only the few at the front seemed to take notice. She felt like she should be giving a speech.

"Attention, colonists."

Her voice was drowned out by the continued noise of the activity around her.

The Lietennant tapped her on the shoulder.

"Let me give it a try," she then turned to the crowd and yelled "HEY LISTEN UP!"

The room came down in volume as conversations came to an abrupt halt. While the group in the back did not stop their work, those at the front certainly took notice. They slowly turned to face Four Fifty-one.

"Alright, all yours," Raleigh whispered to the Captain as she took up position behind her.

"Attention, colonists," Four Fifty-one began again, "we are relocating you to a starbase where you will have the option to select another colonization site or join an existing colony."

She pointed to the Lieutenant, while trying to put more force behind her voice but it refused to cooperate.

"The Lieutenant and the other members of my crew will be glad to assist you until we arrive at your destination. I request that you stay in this area until we do. Are there any questions?"

The colonists resumed their previous activities, none giving her a second look. This was going more easily than she had imagined. Usually colonial groups were fiercely independent, and not just a little stubborn. This one, however, seemed resigned to their fate.

Four Fifty-one gave a nod to the Lieutenant and proceeded past the security detail and into the hall. Raleigh followed, only stopping long enough to relay the Captain's orders to the Ensign by the door.

At the back of the room, a red-haired woman looked up from her work just long enough to see the Captain leave. She recognized Four Fifty-one's gait first, the almost imperceptibly off-balance walk favoring the left leg. Her vision was blocked by a crate suspended in the air, so the face was obscured, but she didn't need to see it.

The way the clothes clung to the Captain's body showing the outline of Borg implants, in all the right places, was more than enough. Even from this distance, she knew that form and she knew that woman, though the Starfleet uniform was an addition she had not been prepared to see.

She dropped the case she was carrying, resounding a thunderous boom through the bay that was all but muted by the crowd. Dodging her way through the thinner groups and bounding over equipment, she could hear Rachael yell from behind her "Where are you going?"

There was no time to reply, not that she would have been able to respond either in volume or direction. She had to get to the Captain, but gave no thought as to the reasoning. The only thing on her mind was the same words that came out of her mouth.

"Four Fifty-one!"

A strong arm halted her advance, wrapping itself around her waist and pulling her from her objective. She struggled, but it didn't do any good.

"Whoa, nobody is supposed to leave the bay."

The red-haired woman looked up at her assailant. He was a Starfleet officer with a smile on his face like he was stopping an unruly child from running into the street.

"Nobody can leave here," he repeated.

"But, I have to talk to her."

"Okay, we will make a request, but we can't have colonists bum-rushing the Captain. Tell me what you wanted to talk to her about and we'll see if we can make it happen."

"I, uh..."

She trailed off, her green eyes following suit. There was honestly no answer to that question. She had absolutely no idea what she wanted to say, or even what there was to say. The more she thought about it the more she was glad that the guard had stopped her. She would have made a fool of herself.

The red-haired woman started again.

"We're old, um, friends. I just wanted to wanted to, you know, catch up."

"Well, I'll let my superior know and we..."

"No!"

The officer was taken aback, releasing his grip and recoiling.

"But I thought that-"

She interrupted, more quietly this time, suddenly aware of her strange behavior.

"No. That's fine."

"Well, if you can at least tell me your name maybe I can see about something."

"No. I'll be fine. Thank you anyway."

"Okay then."

The officer walked back to his post, standing with crossed arms and a perplexed look on his face. She turned back to the crowd, meeting Rachael who wore the same expression.

"What in the world were you doing, Nina?"

"I thought I saw someone I knew."

"Oh. Did you?"

She gave one look back to the uniformed Starfleet officer and shook her head.

"No. It was someone totally different."

The Admiral on the screen reached up pressed a button on the side, replacing his visage with a the reflection of Four Fifty-one and her First Officer on the black screen. They stood for a moment in silence, before turning to look at one another.

She huffed and grabbed the datapad from the table.

"Well, all the way back to SB-01, I guess."

Though the Vulcan gave no sign of emotion, as per usual, he still came across as flustered. Perhaps she was projecting.

"It appears so."

"Feels like I'm running freight again. Drop the excess equipment at the salvage yard and then drop off the colonists at a starbase. Maybe after a while we'll be trusted with overnight deliveries, too."

"You want something more exciting?"

Four Fifty-one shrugged.

"Maybe. I thought that when I got my own ship that I'd be out there exploring, seeing new worlds and things like that. Not playing courier for Command."

"Someone must do those jobs. I think you may be coming into contact with reality. Most of Starfleet's jobs are what you might describe as mundane."

"Oh, don't think I'm not aware of this. I had hoped that after a couple of months, they would have given us something with more on the line."

"Every starship cannot be saving the universe all the time."

She laughed at him, which caused Thauk to raise an eyebrow.

"Of course not, Commander. I thought that we'd be farther out by now, exploring something. You know, this is the farthest we've been from Earth since this ship was commissioned?"

"I was not aware, but your claim seems logical. And noting that, we should consider getting out of Romulan space. They are not known for their hospitality, even if we have permission to be here."

"Agreed."

Four Fifty-one spun towards the door to the ready room and headed out onto the bridge. Thauk followed and took his chair, tapping on the control panel in the armrest.

She stood in front of hers, giving out the orders before sitting.

"Set a course for the Sierra Scrapyards."

The helmsman acknowledged the command and laid in the course on his console.

Brett turned around from the Conn station, using the back of the chair to anchor his half turn. His eyes went back and forth between Darren and the Captain.

"Sierra Scrapyards. Sounds like it might be a nice place for the Chief to poke around."

Four Fifty-one leaned back in her chair.

"If he wants. We're only there for a short time, before we head back to Earth."

"A scan or two won't take too long. I'm sure they've got something worth grabbing."

The ship rocked forward and immediately came out of warp. The engines abruptly powered down, chorused by the sound of metal bending under pressure.

The lights flickered momentarily but came back up before Four Fifty-one had time to question it.

"Report!"

Darren's voice came from behind her, starting off with an "Um..."

"We've been hit with some kind of Thalaron weapon. The radiation collapsed our warp bubble. It'll take a little while to reboot the system and shake it off."

"Thalaron? Who uses-"

Her sentence was immediately interrupted by the image of a Romulan Warbird decloaking in front of them.

"Shields up, Red Alert."

The lights dimmed and the edges of the bridge pulsed softly with a red hue. The tactical view came up shortly afterwards, showing the space around them and giving a breakdown of the starship to their fore.

It was a Romulan D'deridex-class battleship, old but still powerful. The dark green of its hull was accented by the emerald lights along the ship's beak. The design gave the vessel a somber, cold viscousness.

Lieutenant Brett broke her stare with the massive vessel.

"They are hailing us."

"On screen."

The viewscreen switched to an image of a Romulan officer, though his rank was unclear. He leveled his eyes in a steady, but unwaivering manner beneath his black upturned eyebrows. Four Fifty-one started in before he could speak.

"I am Captain Four Fifty-one of the Starfleet ship U.S.S. Themis. We are not at war. Why have you fired on our ship?"

The wicked smile that Romulans were known for slid across his face as he prepared his retort.

"Oh Captain, I hope I did not permanently damage your ship. I did not realize that Starfleet vessels were so fragile. We simply needed to stop you before you made a terrible mistake."

She stood and made her way to center of the room, taking up the most combative stance she could.

"Mistake?"

"Yes. We recently came into some information that there is an impostor on your ship. You just picked them up from one of your failed colonies. We simply wish to retrieve the passenger."

"And if we refuse?"

"Let us hope that it doesn't come to that. I'd hate for there to be a misunderstanding between us. The Borg are not known for their diplomacy."

Four Fifty-one kept a lid on the anger, nodding quickly to him and doing a cut-off motion to Brett.

"We'll need to get back to you on that."

"You have ten minutes. We cannot allow the convict to escape."

The screen went back to the image of the Battleship glowing softly on the black background of space.

Darren answered her next question before she had a chance to ask it.

"It's going to be at least an hour before the engines come back up."

"We can't bring them up any faster?"

"It's all an automated sequence. If we power up warp drive and something is off, then it'll be a problem for both us and the Romulans. With all that Thalaron radiation floating around, we don't want to take any chances."

Thauk stood and joined her at the center of the bridge.

"I would wonder what means they are using to determine that there is an impostor, and why they are just now making a move to capture them. Attacking a Federation starship would be much more difficult than a colony."

She gave him a single tap of the head and crossed her arms.

"He's lying about something, that much is sure. And, we're at his mercy until we get our engines back online. I'd rather not start a war right now."

The Captain pointed at Darren.

"For now, let's use the time we've got to see if we can't find some other way out of this. We can't let them have any of the colonists."

Four Fifty-one returned to her chair, with Thauk close behind.

"I have an idea."

Turning around she saw that Darren was addressing them from the back, indicating an outline of the Romulan ship. He continued, drawing his finger along the bell-shaped aft of the ship.

"This is one of the older generation of Warbirds with the Engineering section just about here in the back. These ships were designed for a frontal assault. If we can get in behind quickly enough and take out the shields, we'll have a direct shot at the core."

"That will disable them?"

"Depends on how accurate we are. We'll need to hit them hard and fast to do enough damage to destabilize the core before they do too much damage to us."

Four Fifty-one pointed to him.

"Prepare for that, but let's see if we can't talk our way out of this."

She turned back to the Conn.

"Hail the Romulan ship."

"Aye."

The image flashed quickly over to the image of the Romulan Captain, still with the same smirk on his face. He looked relaxed and confident, but pre-empted her.

"I assume you're ready to release the prisoner?"

"Unfortunately no. My orders are to see these colonists safely to SB-01 and that's what I intend to do."

"And I have my orders. The Undine are a threat to the entire quadrant, and we cannot allow it to escape here. It is unfortunate that it must end this way."

"I don't think it would benefit either of us to destroy ourselves over-"

The screen went blank, flipping over to the outside view of the Warbird as it powered up. Four Fifty-one shouted back to the Lieutenant-Commander as she took her seat.

"Go!"

The Themis burst forward, narrowly missing the first volley of weapons-fire and gliding over the top of the Romulan ship. A few disruptors from the Warbird re-aimed and tried again, this time connecting solidly with the ship.

Their ship lurched to the side as it was brought in to a halt.

Thauk looked to the readout in the armrest of his chair and then back to the Captain.

"They've got us in a tractor beam."

"It doesn't matter. We're right were we need to be," Darren announced.

Four Fifty-one repositioned herself in her chair.

"Then fire."

"Aye. Overloading the banks and firing."

The first two shots were heavy, dropping every bit of power that could be mustered into the Warbird's deflectors, followed by several smaller shots. Its shields dropped almost instantly and was followed by a volley of torpedoes directly to its hull.

The Warbird was attempting to turn, but its mass was getting the better of it. Explosions rippled across its surface as it desperately attempted to meet the Federation vessel.

Darren proudly confirmed that his plan had worked.

"There are fluctuations all across the power grid. We can head out when-"

He stopped abruptly mid-sentence and returned to his console after Anagnostou had interrupted him with something on her screen. Four Fifty-one leaned over in her chair so she could see him.

"What?"

"We, uh, hit them a little harder than I thought. Their core is about to go critical."

She spun back towards Brett.

"Hail them."

After a few seconds he shook his head and looked back at the Captain.

"Nothing. They're not responding."

"Can we beam them out?"

"No, their shields have started to come back up. We can't beam them through," Darren answered.

"Suggestions?"

He shrugged at the Captain.

"Run?"

Four Fifty-one looked at Thauk who nodded in agreement.

"Helm, full impulse, dead ahead. Go."

As the Themis moved forward, the viewscreen switched a rear-view of the Romulan vessel. Green fires and scattered electrical discharges arced across the edges of its wings like burning feathers. It was slowly consumed and the ship disappeared from view, dying in the night like an extinguished campfire.

Not an instant later the darkness was lite aflame by the exploding ship, sending a shockwave out into the deadness of space. It rippled out in a perfect halo from the destroyed ship, except for a small area in the corner of the viewscreen.

Four Fifty-one's Imager picked up the aberration immediately. She turned back towards Anagnostou.

"Did you see that?"  
"See what? The explosion?"

"No, there was something strange about the shockwave at the end. Restart it from about ten seconds ago."

The image rolled back and started to replay, with the ship exploding and the shockwave heading out from it. When the distortion appeared, she pointed to the screen.

"Stop it there. Upper left hand corner. What is that?"

The Science Officer zoomed on it and brought the resolution up. There was no mistaking the outline.

"A cloaked Romulan shuttle."

"It's got to be damaged from that explosion. Search the area."

Darren came back almost immediately.

"I've got them."

Four Fifty-one stood and took a few steps towards the screen.

"Fire a low power, wide beam phaser shot at that ship. Let them know we see them."

"Aye."

The shot coated the invisible ship as it arced from the Themis in a swiping motion. The outline of the vessel was clearly visible in the orange of the reflected beam, forcing it to decloak in defeat.

Four Fifty-one turned back to the Science station.

"How's the ship?"

"It's fine, considering. Still flyable."

"Lock a tractor beam onto it and pull it into the shuttle bay. Use the site to site transporters to move the occupants from the shuttle to the brig and have Security escort them to the main conference room."

"Aye."

The Captain looked at Thauk.

"Let's go greet our new visitors. Darren, you have the bridge."

Her First Officer stood and followed her to the turbo-lift, leaning over towards her when the doors closed.

"Is this the excitement you were referring to?"  
She looked at him and smiled.

"No, but close enough."


	14. Chapter 14: Perdition

_We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey. _

~Kenji Miyazawa

_**-14-**_

_Perdition_

Raleigh was at the door and gave the two a short wave before moving to talk to the Captain and First Officer. When they met, she brought them to a halt, hands out in a stopping motion.

"There's three of them in the room, a fourth is in sickbay. I couldn't get any names, but they kept referring to one as Commander."

Thauk looked at Four Fifty-one and then back to the security officer.

"That is useful information."

"Do you want me to move them back to the brig or find quarters?"

"If we have regular quarters then we should not agitate them further by incarcerating them."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"Agreed. There's still a chance that Starfleet can salvage this situation."

Lieutenant Raleigh walked away, collecting a congregation of security guards at the door on the opposite side before moving into the conference room.

Thauk pivoted slightly towards the Captain.

"If you are ready?"

"Probably not, but I suppose that can't be helped."

With that she lead them into the conference room and to a flurry of angry yelling, not all between the Romulans and Starfleet officers. Two of the Romulan officers in the corner seemed to be in a heated debate as well. The more ornate of the two, the Commander, complete with large matching cuff-links was talking down to the other, obviously his subordinate.

The Commander noticed the new additions immediately and made a straight warpath towards them, finger wagging.

"You will return us to the Empire or suffer the consequences!"

Four Fifty-one pointed to the conference room chairs.

"Sit down and we will discuss it."

"There will be no discussion, Borg. You will return us immediately!"

Four Fifty-one put herself within a few centimeters of him and forced her Imager to unfocus and refocus. It spun wildly adding an accent to her sentence and causing the Commander to recoil slightly.

She spoke softly, but with force.

"You will sit down."

He didn't say anything, motioning his officers to the table. When they had seated themselves, and the security personnel had returned to their stations by the door, she addressed them.

"First of all, some questions. Who are you, and why did you attack us?"

"I am Commander Tiv'k, this is-"

He paused and restarted, pointing to the man beside him, a statuesque Romulan if she ever saw one.

"-this was my First Officer E'Lev. These officers are my bridge crew."

"And the reason you opened fire on my ship?"

"I would like to point out that you hit us first."

Thauk nodded in agreement at the Captain.

"That is accurate. They fired initially, but we dealt the first blow."

Four Fifty-one huffed and waved away the comment.

"I don't think it can be argued that we were the instigators of this altercation. However, you've not answered the question."

The Commander crossed his arms defiantly.

"We were looking for an imposter that we had tracked to the colony that you recently evacuated. That is all I am authorized to tell you. You will get no more information out of me."

"Fine. You are confined to quarters until we receive orders on what to do with you."

They all stood silently, Tiv'k giving them a scornful stare as he exited the room followed by his officers. They filtered out with their escorts, E'Lev taking up the rear, but he did not leave with the other, stopping at the door and turning back silently.

Melissa put herself between the Romulan and Four Fifty-one giving him an "Okay, stop," and placing one hand on the phaser in her belt.

E'Lev held his arms up, as if surrendering, but put a smile on his face.

"I just want to talk to the Captain. The quicker the better, before they notice I didn't leave with them."

Four Fifty-one waved him forward and Melissa stood aside.

He gave her a brief bow and walked to the Captain.

"I am E'Lev, as you know, the Commander's First Officer. I believe that I can be of more assistance to you than him."

"And why are you being so open?"

"Tiv'k is under much pressure to return with this imposter, and now you've destroyed his ship. Aged as it was, it was still his. I do not think that he was thinking clearly."

"Okay, who are you looking for?"

He smiled again, looking her up and down as he did.

"The imposter that you are looking for is Undine. One that has been in hiding for quite some time. We have very good intel that says that it may be on this ship."

One of Thauk's eyebrows went up.

"What would one be doing on a colony world?"

E'Lev shook his head.

"We do not know, but the Undine are a mischievous lot. We can be assured that it was for no good purpose."

Four Fifty-one nodded.

"That we can. Anything else?"

"Yes, but I'd prefer not to discuss it now. I need to be going."

"Understood. You can meet with my First Officer and me at-"

"A-actually I would like to discuss it with just you. No offense to the Vulcan, but I think it would be best if he were not around."

Thauk looked to Four Fifty-one for a decision, which she gave.

"As you wish. I will retrieve you when I can."

"Very good."

E'Lev spun quickly and moved out into the hall, causing the two surprised security officers to jog so they could catch up. When he had left, Four Fifty-one turned to her First Officer.

"So, impressions?"

"I see no reason to assume that he has anything but good intentions."

"I like him, too."

Four Fifty-one entered her quarters and started to pop the belt kit off as soon as she was able. The new uniforms were awkward enough, but the addition of the kits made it even worse. Over these last few months, the combination of the two had been getting in her way no matter where she put her arms.

She stopped before hitting release when she saw that Three was in the middle of the living room, playing with her dolls.

"Three, what are you doing home so soon? Today you're supposed to be with the counselor."

The child didn't look up, situating the unwieldy legs of the toys into a position that could only loosely be referred to as a sitting position.

"I told her I didn't want to talk today."

"Oh, okay. Why?"

"She always talks about mom, and it makes me feel sad."

Four Fifty-one knew that eventually this day would come. The girl had been so blissfully naïve until this point, but that had to end. At some point the truth would set in and she would be robbed of her childhood long before her time.

She sat cross-legged in front of Three, turning over one of the chairs from the dollhouse in her hand.

"It makes you feel sad. Do you miss her?"

Three ignored the question and inhaled in a deep sniff.

"Mommy's not comin' back, is she?'

Four fifty-one set the chair down. It fell over onto its back toppling a few members of the toy family.

"No. She is gone."

Three wiped her face, but kept her stoic look, concentrating on setting the family back up in their positions. Her shaking grip kept her from being even remotely successful, knocking over the dolls as soon as she arranged them. She eventually abandoned the project altogether.

"I don't have a mommy."

Four Fifty-one scooted herself around beside Three and rubbed her back gently.

"You do, if you want one. I can be."

"You're my mommy?"

"If you want."

The little girl bulldozed all of the scattered toys into the dollhouse and laid down on the floor, head in Four Fifty-one's lap. She stayed there, silent there for several seconds before responding with a flat "No."

Four Fifty-one nodded and stroked Three's hair.

"Oh, well that's okay."

"I don't want you to go 'way, too."

She could feel the child convulse a little, restrained crying coughs. Three kept one unsteady hand beside her face, wiping away tears as soon as they formed.

Four Fifty-one pulled Three's black locks behind her exposed ear, revealing her face. Immediately, the girl pulled the hair back over her face.

"Three, what are you doing?"

"Coverin' my face. Lib-ated don't cry."

"Who told you that?"

"My friend Mark, from the other place. He said, he said that Lib-ated don't cry."

Four Fifty-one tried to move the child's bangs again, this time talking to her while she did. The friendly ruse worked.

"Some of them do."

"You don't."

"Not that you see. Just because you don't see someone cry, doesn't mean they aren't. It also doesn't mean they aren't hurting. Everyone grieves in their own way."

Three got herself to her knees and pushed the remaining toys into the dollhouse and picked it up while she stood. Without a free hand, it could be seen how heavily the tears were flowing, coating her face almost the instant they were unsupervised. She dropped the house in her toybox and quickly resumed wiping her face with her hand.

Four Fifty-one stood as well, moving over to the replicator, replicating something for the two of them.

"Milk chocolate, one hot, one warm with marshmallows."

Four Fifty-one felt a hand grip the kit belt around her waist and pull on it. She looked down to see Three attempting to hoist herself up, her little feet kicking unsuccessfully against the smooth cloth of her pants. The child was able to get a few toes in the top of the boot, but it folded as soon as weight was applied.

"What are you doing, Three?"

The girl released the belt and dropped herself back to the floor.

"Nuffin."

"Go sit at the table and I'll bring you this."

Three sulked over to the table and climbed up into the chair where she normally sat. She was completely silent, hands on the table, like a wax figure. Occasionally she would break from her motionlessness to wipe her eyes, but then return to staring blankly at the wall.

Four Fifty-one placed the cups on the table, both in front of Three. Then, she picked up the child and sat down with her in her lap. With her arms wrapped around the girl, she mourned again, like she had done a thousand times in private.

The cracking f_abergé egg locked in her embrace intensified the depth of the pain, but also brought with it some comfort. This was their pain now, a connection that neither wanted though would bind the two together._

_ Three-Twelve had abandoned them, but the fire from the anguish of her departure had left a pair of steel wings. Four Fifty-one stretched those wings, and then wrapped them around Three. _

_ Some would argue that the sadness was to be avoided, though Four Fifty-one could see differently now. This was merely an emotion that could be bent to its own ends, for whatever means she chose. She chose to swaddle the child in it, protect her from every evil and pain that she could._

_ Four Fifty-one could not be Three's mother, but she could be her guardian. She could be a force born of a common misery to shield the child from her selfish mother and anyone else who dared to hurt her. _

_ After nearly an hour of waning sobs, Three fell asleep in Four Fifty-one's arms. She lifted the child up and took her to her room. With the child tucked in, she silently moved into the living area. _

_ Tapping a few keys on a wall panel, she found an open holodeck and quickly reserved it. It was an indulgence that she should not partake in, but she had no control over it in any way. Once more she would drag herself there and talk with the specter, giving her a quick relief. _

_ It had become a habit now, a few minutes of peace while she pretended that everything was all right. She had promised herself she would stop, but it was a lie. How could she not become addicted to the fantasy, when it was all she had?_

Four Fifty-one laid in the field, staring at the slowly moving clouds overhead as they made faltering forms that quickly broke apart. Her Imager could take the clouds and extrapolate them into shapes, but that seemed to take all of the fun out of it.

She turned the device off, just as Three-Twelve's head pressed against her stomach. The specter of her sister was staring up at the clouds with her, smiling every once in a while, the collar of her shirt flapping in the wind.

The civilian clothes they wore were significantly looser than her uniform, but it was a toss-up as to which was better. Perhaps she had slowly become more used to being uncomfortable.

Four Fifty-one slid a finger down her sister's cheek and brushed the hair around her eye implant, anchoring it on a small nodule that stuck out. Her words were in whispers, like the would cease to be true if she said them quietly.

"I hate you, you know."

Three-Twelve turned her face away from the sky and looked at Four Fifty-one.

"I know."

"For everything."

"I know," she repeated.

"But I still love you."

Three-Twelve turned herself around, laying belly-first in the cool grass. She stared at Four Fifty-one, resting her chin on one flat hand laid across her sister's chest.

"Why?"

"Because..."

She trailed off, looking to the sky for answers. Finding none, she returned.

"...because I'd forgive you if you just came back. I promise."

"Are you bargaining with me?"

"Can I?"

"No," Three-Twelve said through a smile, "I suppose not."

"While we're asking for things, can I wish for a few more?"

"I don't see why not."

Four Fifty-one removed the arm from behind her head, laying her flat on the ground. She moved that hand to her sister's back, putting them in a half-embrace.

"I wish we didn't fight so much. I wish I didn't ignore you for so long. I wish a lot of things."

"Do you know what I wish? I wish you didn't wish for so much."

They giggled together, ending with both taking a deep breath. Four Fifty-one gave her sister a squeeze, which was promptly returned.

"I have to go now, and I may not come back."

Three-Twelve righted herself, propping up on one arm.

"I understand."

Four Fifty-one followed, getting herself to her feet and looking down at her sister.

"This isn't right. I can't keep turning this pain into a spectacle, interacting with this fake you that I've created."

"It's time for you to move on. You can't let me haunt you."

There was nothing to say to that, so Four Fifty-one turned and headed out of the holodeck.

"Computer, end simulation. Erase program."

She stopped in the hallway, just outside the open door. Her legs were locked, knees unable to bend in a frozen fear that she would actually follow through with it.

"Belay that last command. Keep the program."

_ Four Fifty-one continued on her way, cursing her own weakness. The ghost followed her still._

"That will free up quite a bit of space in the cargo bay."

Four Fifty-one handed the pad back to Commander Thauk as she continued talking.

"I'm sure that room is becoming smaller and smaller to the colonists by the minute. Didn't think that space would ever be an issue on this ship."

"If we let them out of the cargo bay, perhaps-"

"We can't take that risk. Security can't be tasked with patrolling for confrontations between the Romulans and the colonists. We'll keep the Romulans in their room, and the colonists in theirs."

They rounded the corner catching the attention of Darren. He gave a quick wave to them as he approached.

"Captain, Commander. So, about that salvage yard."

Four Fifty-one gave him a quick nod.

"Yes."

"Well, how long do I have to look it over?"

"We will be stopping only long enough to drop off the larger pieces of the colonist's equipment before continuing on to Earth."

"All I need is an hour or so."

She looked at Thauk for a response, since she had largely delegated the task to him.

"I see no reason why not, Lieutenant-Commander. It will take us that long to beam over to the station, fill out the necessary paperwork and then do the actual delivery."

"Excellent!" Darren said as he rubbed his hands together and turned to leave. He continued to mumble to himself as he walked away.

Thauk looked back at him as they resumed their walk.

"He seems in good spirits."

Four Fifty-one shrugged.

"You know him and piles of junk. Especially Borg junk."

"Borg junk?"

"The salvage area we are going to holds several partially assimilated cruisers and ships from past battles with the Collective. About 20 years worth."

"His interest is understandable."

She smiled at him as they took the next corner, putting them a little ways away from the Captain's quarters, their destination.

"I have a feeling that we're going to need to drag the Chief away from the scrapyard kicking and screaming."

"I do not share his obsession with Borg technology, but I can identify with his desire for knowledge pertaining to the Collective."  
"I remember at the Academy you had quite a different opinion of the Borg."

"As I have gathered more information, my opinions have changed. They must, if I am to remain objective and intellectually honest. I must note as well, that you are a product of the Borg."

They stopped at the door, which beeped for her to enter her code. She'd locked her quarters since the Romulans came aboard, at Lieutenant Raleigh's request.

"Wish I could do that, just change an opinion when better data came along. There's usually so much emotion wrapped up in it I can't tell what's true and what's not."

"To make decisions based on emotion rather than logic. That is very human of you."

"That was the nicest thing you've said to me."

"It was not my intention, however, you are welcome."

Melissa approached from their side, with some obscured person in tow behind her. Thauk crossed his arms and waited while Four Fifty-one typed in the code on the door control.

"Captain." Raleigh said with a nod.

She paused in the open door.

"Lieutenant?"

"I have one of the colonists with me that wishes to speak with you."

"I'd informed you that I did not want colonists out of the cargo bay until we dropped off the Romulans except in an emergency. Is this an emergency?"

"No Captain, but she said that she knew you, and I escorted her here. I can take her back."

Four Fifty-one pointed her finger down the hall.

"Then go ahead and take them back and I'll-"

She froze the second she saw the red hair and green eyes pop out from behind the Security officer. Four Fifty-one lowered her arm and ushered the woman into her room.

With a soft "nevermind" she bid the Commander and Lieutenant goodbye, disappearing into her quarters.

Thauk turned to walk away, but was quickly joined by Melissa.

"What was that all about?"

"I do not know."

"Aren't you at the least a bit curious?"

"Always, but not enough to speculate."

The Lieutenant parted ways with the Commander at the next junction in the corridor.

"I'm going to find Vara, she loves to speculate."

"Well."

It broke the silence, but got them no closer to actually saying anything. The two stared at each other for a while still after Four Fifty-one had uttered the word.

"Well," Nina repeated, fiddling with one of the five clay eggs adorning the top of a nearby table.

She sighed and gave a flustered shake of her head.

"I knew this was going to be weird. I should never have come."

"No, it's fine. But yes, this is..."

Four Fifty-one paused before completing her sentence.

"...awkward."

"I know. I tried to stay away, but the longer I did the more I felt I needed to, you know, say 'hi.'"

"I see. Feel free to have a seat. Did you want anything?"

She pointed toward the replicator, but got a "no" from Nina.

Four Fifty-one took a seat across from her as she looked around the room with her big green eyes. She stopped when she reached the Captain and smiled.

"Captain Four Fifty-one. You have some big britches now, huh?"

"It has been a rather long road. This position is actually quite recent."

"Nice room though, this living room is just about the size of my entire house back on the colony. Well, it was. Not any more I guess."

She'd not noticed until now, but Nina looked weathered and older, probably because both were true. Though her eyes were the same lively emerald spheres they'd always been, the rest had sunk under the weight of the years. The red in her hair had dulled, probably bleached from the colony's two suns beating on it day in and day out.

When compared to herself, she could see the slowed aging of the Natal Liberated in stark contrast. She'd aged, to be sure, but Four Fifty-one looked a third less Nina's age. It seemed as though she was a smarmy twenty-something and here was a nearly middle-aged woman.

Four Fifty-one couldn't quite understand, but she actually found this Nina to be more attractive than the one she had left behind. She was still Nina, there was no doubt about that, every mannerism flowed from her in predictable order. The naïve girl was gone, replaced by a controlled, but still very carefree adult. The change was subtle, but on some level, profound.

"And how did your flower farm go?"

"Pretty well. Though, by the end that's all I was growing, and for myself mostly. We started out with replicators then went to farming, and back to replicators towards the end."

"The farming not successful?"

"Oh, yes it was. We had become self-sufficient enough to produce our own replicators. We set up trade routes with a Ferengi merchant when we found some mining areas and we were producing..."

She mumbled for a second and waved her hand, resting it on her cheek.

"This is all boring, and pointless. The colony is gone and we have to start somewhere else. Not sure I want to do that."

"Starting over is hard."

"Believe me, I know."

That stopped the conversation cold. They were back to staring at each other, neither knowing what to say next. Nina leaned forward and spoke softly.

"I'm sorry. I don't want you to think that I hate you or anything. It just wasn't the right thing at the right time."

Four Fifty-one moved in closer as well, matching her volume without thinking about it.

"Maybe you should. I was not honest with you about my intentions at the time."

"I tried to hate you, I really did. I just don't think that I can. Against my better judgment I'm still kind of fond of you."

"And I of-"

"Captain, we're at the Salvage Station," Commander Thauk interrupted over the intercom.

Four Fifty-one stood and hit her badge.

"Acknowledged, Commander. I'm on my way."

Nina stood as well.

"I suppose I'm done here."

"I'll get you an escort. You can stay here until they arrive."

"'Spose I can do that."

Four Fifty-one turned and headed for the exit, but was caught by Nina's plea.

"We should do this again?"

She stopped at the open door, using her slow pivot back as time to think carefully about her response. With a muted nod she replied with a soft "we should" and left.

Nina could do nothing but smile until the Security officer arrived.

Four Fifty-one and Thauk materialized from transport in front of what looked like a second-hand shop. The station appeared small from the outside, but was even more cramped once you were standing in it. There looked to be, at the very most, ten or so meters of walking area, the rest of the room stacked to the rafters with junk.

A grizzled man whose Starfleet uniform was years out of date shuffled to the counter, gave them a once over and returned to his work. He talked to them as if they were the least interesting thing he had ever seen.

"You Themis?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and placed her hands on the table in one of the few places that was unoccupied by clutter.

"Yes. We attempted to contact you but we see that your communications systems are out."

"Yep, they're in and out. Have been for the last five or so years. Put in a requisition to have a team come out and look at them, but it's an old system and we're not really high on the Federation's priority list."

"You are an Engineer. Can you not fix them yourselves?"

"Hey Marty!" the man yelled back over his shoulder.

A voice came from somewhere in the back, muffled.

"Yeah? What do you want?"

"This Captain says we should repair the communications array."

"That's a good idea. Ne'er thought of that."

He turned back to the datapad in his hand, talking to the Captain while scrolling through it.

"That's bloody brilliant. I can tell why you're the Captain, uh, Four-Five-One."

Once again he paused and turned towards the back.

"Marty, this is Four-Five-One!"

"Huh? Is that 'sposed to mean somethin' to me?"

"Yeah, it's one of the personnel boxes we picked up from those ships we got back in, oh, '97 I think. Top shelf."

The Engineer tapped on the pad and dropped it in front of Four Fifty-one.

"Here, sign this. You'll be dropping your stuff in Lot C-9. Try to get it as close to the tractor-collectors as you can. Don't want to make any more runs to pick up crap that floats away."

She signed the pad and handed it back to him just as Marty came up to the counter with a fairly good-sized gray box. He plopped it down where she had been resting her hands and pointed quickly to it like she wouldn't know it was for her.

The words "451:USS-AVARAYR" were written on the side in a font that suggested an older computer printout consistent with the age of the station. The writing underneath the words was smaller, but in a similar script. It gave information as to the contents of the box as well as some other miscellaneous information in an abbreviated form that was completely indecipherable. She hit the button on the top, breaking the seal and revealing a forgotten treasure trove.

Inside there was a broken red datapad, a photoplayer, and a plant pot, still filled with potting soil. They were packed quite well with a collection of the older non-holographic pads and other assorted items.

The two Engineers looked at her, confused, as she smiled and clutched the box to her stomach. Marty pointed again to the box.

"We used to send those things out, but since the communication's been on the fritz, we just keep 'em backlogged. Don't seem right to just throw them into space, ya know?"

"I appreciate it."

"Whatever. The more junk I can get outta here, the better. You have a good one. Enjoy your, uh, broken stuff and dirt."

"And you enjoy yours."

He guffawed as the two disappeared back behind the mountains of things that served as walls.

Thauk and Four Fifty-one walked back to their original beam-in spot and prepared for transport. He looked at the box as he spoke.

"Things from a previous assignment, I assume."

"Yes. I thought I had lost them. I didn't really think about them that much, wrote them off as just 'things.' But, now that I see them again, I'm glad they've been returned."

"They are valuable?"

"To me, yes. To others, probably not."

The Commander tapped his combadge.

"Return us to the ship."

As soon as they stepped out of the transporter room, Four Fifty-one and Thauk were intercepted by Lieutenant Raleigh. She joined them in their walk, taking a place just behind and to the side of the Captain.

"Captain, I wanted to remind you that E'Lev wishes to speak to you."

"I have decided that I am not the proper person to interrogate him. We will drop the Romulans off at the designated starbase and let Starfleet take care of them."

"He's bizarrely insistent on talking specifically to you. He's mentioned it to my officers on more than one occasion."

"Okay. We can do it now," Four Fifty-one sighed.

She turned to Thauk.

"Return to the bridge. I will join you when I am finished."

He gave a quick "Yes Captain," and separated from the other two at the next juncture, heading towards the turbo-lift.

They hadn't gotten another hall down before Darren rounded the corner. He looked up from the datapad in his hand long enough to give them a glance, as though he'd been looking for them.

Darren spun on one foot when he reached them, not speaking until he had offered the pad in his hand to Four Fifty-one. She took it out of habit while he explained its contents.

"I went scanning ships that had been in altercations with the Borg. I started looking at the most recent additions to the yard, trying to find the latest and greatest technology. And then began moving backwards."

"Okay, and what does this have to do with the scan results you've handed me?"

"They're all resonating with the same energy signature. All the way back, through every Borg encounter."

"That makes sense. The Collective is very concerned with standardization."

Melissa had been looking over the Captain's shoulder and threw in her two cents.

"No, the Borg use anti-proton weaponry. That signature is way out of the range of that wavelength. Those weapons had to be specifically calibrated to irradiate the vessels."

"Exactly," Darren said, giving a brief point of his finger at Melissa before continuing.

"Here's where it gets a little strange. We have about fifteen or so non-Federation ships in this scrapyard that we've acquired from other Borg battles. None of them are reading the same signature."

He put down the finger he was using to point and slid it across the pad, moving it to the next screen.

"At about twenty years ago, the resonance trace ends. Doesn't change, _ends_. Its like one day, the Borg woke up and decided to tag all the Federation starships."

Four Fifty-one continued to read down the densely-packed data on the screen, trying to determine what the purpose might be.

"These ships were all damaged in the same sector. What's this frequency that they're operating at?"

Darren reached over and tapped a box in the corner of the screen. After a second a wavelength came up proceeding from one side of the screen to the other. Below it, the number 7693922.23 MHz.

Four Fifty-one came to a dead halt, nearly dropping the pad when she did. After a second, she forced herself to start walking again, handing the pad back to Darren dismissively. He took it, shooting a confused look to Melissa, who returned one in kind.

"That's interesting." Four Fifty-one finally said, turning to Melissa.

"I'll have to talk to our Romulan guest later, Lieutenant. I have some other business to take care of."

With that, she broke off from the group, straining to keep her gait from becoming a run as she made her way to the lift.

The two stopped to watch her retreat before glancing at each other. Darren was the first to speak.

"So, that was an odd response."

Melissa nodded.

"I've been seeing a lot of that from her lately."


	15. Chapter 15: Resonate

_There are no extra pieces in the universe. Everyone is here because he or she has a place to fill, and every piece must fit itself into the big jigsaw puzzle. _

~Deepak Chopra

_**-15-**_

_Resonate_

Four Fifty-one's hand slid across the screen that made up the top of her desk. The holographic images bubbled out, showing battle sites and a collection of other statistics. Her time on the Avarayr had sharpened her skills at dealing with multi-level spreadsheets, building queries almost as fast as the computer could process them.

The Chief, Darren, was absolutely correct when he said that the battles all took place in the same sector, but that didn't help much. The Cestus sector was mostly a wasteland, largely vacant of life. What the Borg hadn't taken with them when they left was uninhabitable. Taking the Themis into the area without orders and with no assistance was a significant risk. A rank-busting risk.

There was no doubt in her mind that she would find something, if she just went. It seemed there was no other choice. All lines circled back to this one point, a circle with no edges and only one path. She was liberated here, she had lost her sister here, and now she was being called to return.

And return she would.

Four Fifty-one tapped the off button on her desk and stood, straightening her uniform though it didn't need it. She had to look as proper as she could.

Satisfied that she looked decent enough, she headed from her Ready Room to the bridge, announcing orders as she did.

"Helm, how long until we can be in the Cestus sector?"

Lieutenant Brett turned around in his chair to face her, shaking his head as he talked.

"As in Gamma Orionis? Borg space?"

"Yes."

"Why would we go-"

"How long, Lieutenant?"

He turned around in his chair sheepishly, tapping the console in front of him.

"Right. If we engage slipstream from here to the gate, we can be there in a day."

Four Fifty-one stopped in front of her chair and crossed her arms, ignoring that Thauk had stood and moved in close to her.

"Set a course and take us there."

Thauk leaned in, speaking softly.

"Captain, have our orders changed?"

"We are going to the Cestus sector to investigate Darren's findings."

"And what are we planning on doing about the colonists and Romulans?"

"If we stop to drop them off, we'll have to wait for the Slipstream drive to recharge, adding days to our travel time. They'll just have to sit tight until we can get back."

She did not wait for the Vulcan to respond, turning back towards the Chief, who was exchanging glances with the other crew members.

"Darren, I need you to set up the scanners to look for anything along that wavelength that you found at the scrapyards."

He started to open his mouth to ask a question, but decided against it, giving an "Aye captain," before moving to one of the consoles on the back wall.

Four Fifty-one turned back towards Thauk, who was giving her an incredulous look, one eyebrow cocked. She quickly came to the conclusion that she'd need to do something to appease him.

"I suppose I will need to interrogate the Romulan myself. You have the bridge."

He nodded, but did not say anything.

She moved to the turbo-lift, talking out loud.

"Security."

After a pause, Melissa's voice replied over the intercom.

"Lieutenant Raleigh here."

"I'll need to talk to the Romulan first officer."

"Now?"

Four Fifty-one waited until she was in the lift and the doors had shut before responding.

"No, here in about an hour. I have some work to complete."

"Where do you want him?"

"My quarters should be sufficient. Let's try to be informal as possible."

"Understood."

She took in a let out a deep breath, but the anxiousness returned as soon as it left. There was no escaping the fear that she was putting everyone on this ship in great danger. She was being called, specifically, and there was no other path for her to take. The answers to questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered were just around the corner; she could feel it.

Now that she had another clue, the mysterious clay spheres that Two-Twenty left her had some meaning. Her next task was to figure out what that meaning was.

Vara followed the Chief as he weaved his way through the second level of Engineering. The whole room was the size of a small shopping plaza, and almost structured as such. A metal platform lead from the second level out to the quad-chamber warp core taking the center position.

Smaller rooms led off in other directions from the main area, increasing the actual size to about double of what it appeared to be. The entire Engineering section, which proceeded up two more decks where the labs were, was gigantic all the same. Even with a full staff, the place felt largely vacant.

"We're supposed to be scanning for what?"

Darren tossed the datapad in his hand to Vara as a response, but replied anyway.

"This."

The Ensign spun the pad in her hand and looked it over, following him to the other side of Engineering. The range of things they were scanning for was wide, several different sets of frequencies and energy types. Calibrating everything to this set was going to take a while.

"Why are we looking for all of these?"

The Chief pulled a panel off of the wall and looked back and forth at the circuitry underneath. He spoke in broken sentences between thoughts.

"The Captain wants us to, uh, look for a series of frequencies. Where are the auxiliary sensor relays?"

Vara pointed to the other panel just off to his left.

"Over there."

He slammed the door shut and moved to the indicated console, cursing under his breath.

"Is nothing on this ship in the right place?"

"No. Spent an hour looking for the tertiary transfer chamber for deflector control. You know where it was? Behind the warp core."

"The chamber is behind the warp core? I can't believe..."

Darren mumbled off on his own, staring down the equipment in front of him. He was unsure how he was going to do this and not tie up the sensors completely.

Ensign sh'Sakahar leaned on the wall next to him, waiting until he looked like he had paused in his thought process.

"So," she interjected as soon as the opportunity presented itself, "what are we scanning?"

"Borg space, Cestus sector."

"Cestus? What's there?"

Darren shrugged and pulled a tool out of his tricorder to continue his work.

"I have no idea, but it's important enough that we're heading there at full speed and with other orders left unresolved."

"Do you think we're going against Starfleet orders?"

"No, I don't think they know. I believe that's the reasoning behind the urgency. There are many things that Four Fifty-one does well-"

He pulled a clear plastic memory chip from the circuitry in the wall before he continued.

"-but lying is not one of them. She probably thinks she's circumventing the rules, rather than disobeying."

"A lie by omission."

The Chief nodded and turned around, wagging the chip at Vara while he talked.

"Okay, so what I figure is that we're going to run two sets of scans back to back. Fore and then aft, alternating."

"So, when do we start?"

He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes.

"Tomorrow. We've got a day or so until we need to have this done."

"Good, my shift is ending soon anyway."

She turned and pressed a button on a nearby panel.

"Computer, where is Four Fifty-one?"

"Four Fifty-one is currently in holosuite nine. Private session."

Darren turned off the console and closed his tricorder, placing it on a cradle.

"Going to bother her?"

Vara straightened her uniform and gave him a nod.

"Going to get some answers."

"Good luck, she's not one to give up information so easily."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've had to beat the truth out of her."

"I don't understand what you're trying to do."

Three-Twelve was examining the egg-shaped pieces of baked clay from her reclined position on the floor. She adjusted her arm under her head like a pillow.

"I'm trying," Four Fifty-one said with a definite pause, "to figure out what Two-Twenty was trying to do with these. He died to get these to me."

"Maybe he just thought you'd like to have them as a memento. I mean they have all of our numbers on them."

"But why would he do that?"

Four Fifty-one spun them all to where she could see them, while tucking her legs underneath her. There were five total, each with a flattened bottom and a number etched into the side after they had come out of the kiln.

"415, 312, 220, 245, 910," she mumbled out loud.

Three-Twelve rolled over onto her back, staring at the flat ceiling of the holodeck and sighing heavily.

"I want to go back to the field, or somewhere. This is boring."

"You're supposed to be helping me."

She rolled back to face the Captain, exasperated.

"What do you want me to do? There's a whole slew of things you can do with five numbers. It could be a code to something, a serial number or nothing at all."

Four Fifty-one picked up one of the clay pieces and spun it in her hand. Her Imager recreated it and continued to examine it. It'd done this a hundred times before, but she did it again since there was nothing else to do.

The door chimed, pulling her out of her frustrated stupor and causing her to scramble to her feet.

"Computer remove Three-Twelve."

The image of her sister fizzled away leaving behind nothing. She had to remind herself that there was nothing there before, either.

"Door unlock."

The archway appeared and opened, revealing Vara smiling with her hands behind her back.

"Permission to join you?"

Four Fifty-one nodded and turned back to her project still sitting on the floor. She leaned down and picked them up, cradling them in her arms.

When the Andorian reached her, she leaned over to look at the eggs, picking one up before Four Fifty-one could stop her. She spun it in her hand, feeling the hastily-etched numbers in the side.

"Two Forty-Five. What's that?"

"The designation of a sibling."

"You had more than just a sister?"

"Yes." Four Fifty-one said as she picked up each clay piece and showed it to Vara, reciting the numbers on them.

"Three-Twelve, my sister. Four Fifty-one, me. Nine-ten, my other sister. Two-Twenty, my brother.

She took the last egg from the Ensign and placed it back into her arms.

"Two Forty-five, my other brother."

"Wow, quite a family. And where are the rest?"

"Dead. All of them. Some before I even really knew them."

Four Fifty-one sat back on the ground, placing the eggs beside each other in a line like little soldiers. Vara joined her, placing one arm around her shoulders in a half-hug.

"I'm sorry, Four Fifty-one."

After a pause she continued, voice lowered as if she might wake the dead.

"But, that's not why you're here is it?"

"No. I was hoping that I could figure out why Two-Twenty sent me these."

"A memento?"

"That's what-"

Four Fifty-one stopped herself, ending the sentence prematurely with a "-nevermind," before moving forward.

"He sent me these and said that they were important, more important than him. I feel like they should be related to the sector where we're going."

"What's in Cestus?"

"Everything, apparently. It all started here, and leads back to here."

Vara looked at all the numbers, running her finger over the indentations. "Well, if you had six of them, I'd say you have a relative location."

Four Fifty-one turned her head slightly towards Vara.

"Relative location?"

"It's like a rough estimate instead of using a full destination equation. Andorian ships use it all the time since we can't be bothered to do all the long math to figure out an exact location."

She picked up two of the clay pieces and continued.

"Normally there's a ton of variables in a warp equation to determine your destination. With the relative equation you can find a destination with just six. Three for the point where you think you're going to land and three for your margin of error."

"So it creates a sphere."

"Right. Using the first point X, Y and Z and then another point, X, Y and Z, you create a sphere that you'll land somewhere in. Lots of species use it."

Vara held up one of the eggs and then moved the other around it like it was in a spherical orbit. After she felt that her point had been made, she put the two back in line with the others and shrugged.

"But, you've only got the five. So, that probably doesn't help you."

"It's been more help than I've gotten so far."

They sat in silence for a little while longer, staring at the numbers. Occasionally, Vara would reach out and move the clay pieces, not doing much more than fiddling with them.

"Well," she said while spinning one of the eggs slowly, "did any of them choose names?"

"We just kept our previous numbers, prefix, and suffix..."

Four Fifty-one trailed off for a second before snapping her head back up towards the ceiling. She jumped to her feet, startling Vara.

"Computer, give me an overlay of the Cestus sector about the size of this room. I need all permutations of the relative coordinates for the following six numbers."

The room darkened, creating the square sector map, planets popping into existance all around them. The frieght lanes and locations of other ships in the area, even Borg forces were displayed in a three dimensional space.

Then, a grid over-layed everything, proceeding from the floor to the ceiling and from wall to wall. The computer responded with a "Ready."

Four Fifty-one cleared her throat.

"Four Fifty-one, Three-Twelve, Two-Twenty, Nine-Ten, Two Forty-Five, Nine Thirty-three."

Small spheres started to pop into existence, pinpricks among the vastness of the space they occupied. They appeared around them like bubbles floating in the wind. Vara stood and waved her hand through a few as the computer spoke.

"There are seven hundred and twenty possible permutations of the numbers provided. All have been mapped."

Vara turned by degrees, looking at the massive number of spheres surrounding them.

"We might as well search the whole sector."

Four Fifty-one shook her head slowly as she looked around.

"There has to be a way to narrow down the choices. Computer, remove all of the locations that just contain empty space."

Most of the spheres disappeared, the rest were still scattered in many different directions.

"There are one hundred and thirty-nine remaining locations."

Vara did another half turn, looking at disparate locations of the remainder, before returning to Four Fifty-one for a question.

"If this is based off your prefix and suffix numbers, and you were liberated over twenty years ago, then shouldn't we be looking for how it was then? Not now?"

Four Fifty-one nodded to her and revised her previous work.

"Computer, undo last command, account for stellar drift over the last twenty years, and then remove all those encompassing empty space at that time."

It chimed back, replacing all of the bubbles and regressing the system. After a few seconds it had re-oriented the entire starfield.

"There are ninety-six possible permutations of the numbers provided. All have been mapped."

Vara threw her hands out and huffed.

"Well, I guess that's a little better. What else can we do?"

Four Fifty-one crossed her arms and did a half-turn to look at the ones behind her.

"Now, I think we're just going to have to guess. Computer, remove any locations that do not contain at least one planet."

"There are twenty-seven locations remaining," the computer replied.

The Andorian pointed to Four Fifty-one and then towards the back wall where the words 'Borg Occupied' floated.

"Computer, remove any locations not within one-hundred light-years of Borg occupied space."

"There are three locations remaining."

She gave Four Fifty-one a quick nod.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

The three remaining locations were near the back wall. Though they looked to be clustered, the massive size of the sector compressed to the size of a room meant that they were still several hundred light-years displaced from one another.

Four Fifty-one drew a finger through the spheres, connecting them in a triangle motion.

"How long do you think it would take to scan all three of those locations?"

"Two, three days, if we high-tailed it through the area and stick to the star systems. There's still a lot of empty space there. If we go over that too, then no telling how long it'll take us. Months maybe."

"Then that's what we'll do."

Vara took in a deep breath and looked at Four Fifty-one in a stern gaze.

"We're not here under Starfleet orders, are we?"

"No, we are not."

"If we don't find anything, we're doing a 180 and not coming back, right?"

Four Fifty-one sighed and nodded.

"Yes. If we don't find anything, then I'll turn us around."

"I hope you find what you're looking for, but if we don't, we're coming back home immediately, missy."

Vara gave a shake of her finger, like she was scolding the Captain and smiled. Without further conversation, she turned around and left.

Four Fifty-one turned back to the three floating bubbles. For some reason, she didn't share the Ensign's hope. If there was something there, she knew that it was nothing that she wanted.

Four Fifty-one rounded the corner of the corridor to her quarters and stopped, momentarily confused as to why there was a group of guards standing outside. When the reason returned to her, she continued on her way, giving the two members of security at the door a quick nod before moving inside.

Lieutenant Raleigh and the Romulan, E'Lev were at her table, the former standing and the latter in one of the few uncluttered chairs. Four Fifty-one gestured from Melissa to the exit and without a word the Lieutenant left, the door closing behind her with a swish.

E'Lev smiled and pointed to the dollhouse sitting in the corner. Members of the family and pieces of furniture poked out of the windows like a tornado had hit it but left the walls intact.

"You have a child?"

"Yes."

"I'm sure she's adorable."

"As with most children, most of the time she is, sometimes not."

The Romulan laughed and slapped his knee, motioning for her to sit in the chair across from him. "Is that not the truth?"

Four Fifty-one took a seat and crossed her legs as he launched into his next set of questions.

"This is an odd method of interrogation that Starfleet uses, letting the prisoner ask all the questions."

"I believe you approached me about information. I'm sure you'll get around to it."

"You are a perplexing woman, Ms. Four Fifty-one, but I'm glad you are so trusting. Most humans see Romulans as a rather sly people, even though individuals may vary."

"Not all of us are a slave to the idiosyncrasies of our race."

"Yes," he said while nodding involuntarily, "I think you would know all about that."

E'Lev leaned forward and tilted his head, giving her face a close examination. It was not something that she was used to, since most found it impolite to stare. He did not seem to have any such reservations, listing back and forth as he looked her over.

"If I may ask you a question."

"Yes."

"Do you see through that? Or does it do something else?"

"It is a three-dimensional Imager. It collects, analyzes and stores visual information. It works in tandem with the optical implant that replaced my right eye to replicate 3D images and act as a sort of heads-up display."

The Romulan nodded slowly and looked at the iris-less gray eye to the right. Satisfied he'd seen enough, he relaxed into the chair, propping one leg up on the table.

"Okay, so you've graciously satiated my curiosity. I suppose I should return the favor."

"Please continue."

"My Commander is a proud man. Proud of his crew, himself, and his ship. Seeing as you have deprived him of most of those, he's not particularly interested in working with you to catch this Undine."

Four Fifty-one folded her arms and matched his relaxed position. It was a little uncomfortable, but she held it to keep from fidgeting.

"We had gathered that much. And you're going to do this instead, behind his back?"

E'Lev waved his hand back and forth dismissively.

"Oh, of course not, I am no traitor. I need you to understand why I am doing what I am. He is blinded by his pride and isn't acting in his own best interest."

"I understand that."

"Good. So, here's what I have: We captured an Undine agent some time ago in this sector. After much work we manged to extract some information from it."

He threw his feet to the floor and pointed to the replicator.

"Do you mind if I get something to drink?"

"Uh, sure. What did you want?"

The Romulan got to his feet and briskly made his way to the wall console, keying in something as he talked.

"Oh don't worry about it, I've been playing around with the one in my quarters. I think I can handle this."

He pressed a few buttons and took the materialized drink with him back to his seat. Putting his feet back in their original position on the table, he continued as though nothing had happened, setting the blueish cup down next to him.

"Anyway, it told us that its mission was to find a lost Undine agent. Supposedly, this agent had been looking for a lost Undine."

"And it fingered the colony?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, you evacuated the colony before we could get there."

"So," Four Fifty-one asked the next obvious question, "who is it and how do we find him?"

E'Lev shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

"I wasn't privy to that information."

"Who was?"

"The Commander."

"That's it?"

He nodded as he set his glass back on the table.

"And how you're going to get it out of him is beyond me. He's a stubborn man."

"Great," Four Fifty-one sighed.

The Romulan took another drink.

"I suppose that this short chat should come to an end."

"It's too bad that you can't do more for us."

E'Lev brought himself to his feet and returned his cup to the replicator. He stopped just out of range of the door's sensors and turned towards the Captain.

"Sadly, that is all I can do for you, and even that may have been too much."

Four Fifty-one stood and joined him, looking around the room as she spoke.

"Well, if that's all the information you can give me, then I guess I'll have you taken back to your quarters."

A smirk crossed his face.

"I'm sure if you wished to interrogate me more in the future I could be persuaded to come up with something. A minor state secret perhaps?"

She gave him a confused look as he headed out to the guards and eventually disappeared with them down the hall. Melissa came inside, noting the expression on the Captain's face.

"He's an odd man, isn't he Captain? I like him though."

Four Fifty-one nodded to her, but didn't stop staring out into the hall where he had been.

"I like him, too."

The Lieutenant gave her a sly wink.

"I knew you would."

The Borg Cube spun rigidly, selectively firing in multiple directions. Each of the green beams of light hit their target perfectly and with calculated precision. Pieces of Federation starships flew off, cut from the vessels at hard angles.

Four Fifty-one hit the pause button on the desk display, and swiped the image away, moving on to the next.

"That was from Wolf-359, the first major encounter between the Borg and Starfleet. Now this."

A second video played, showing a similar battle between fewer starships but with greater effect. The Federation ships spun around the Cube, tearing into it with excellent timing and deftness.

"It appears that our skill in defeating them has increased exponentially."

The Captain shook her head while she readjusted herself in her chair.

"I'd like to believe that as well. However, if you take out the ships from both videos..."

She trailed off while she did so, setting both videos next to each other so they played simultaneously. The Cube fired into dead space, only showing a ship when and where the shots landed.

When she had finished the quick editing, she turned back to Thauk while it looped over and over.

"In the first video, the Cube misses once for every seven shots. In the second, once for every three."

"There are more ships, almost three times as many in the first battle. Accuracy should increase as more targets are offered."

"But not by that much, it should be a fractional amount, not double and then some. Also, look at the way the two ships turn."

The Cube at Wolf-359 spun with purpose, hitting it on the nose and heading towards its next objective. The second Cube turned slowly, fighting its own inertia to get moving in another direction. The difference was subtle, but certainly noticeable if you were looking for it.

The Commander looked back at Four Fifty-one.

"And what do you think that this means?"

She shook her head and tapped the desk, turning off the built-in display.

"When the first transwarp gate was opened to Gamma Orionis, we met very little Borg resistance. Most Cubes fell quickly or avoided engagement altogether. It's like something's wrong with them."

"Are you suggesting that the Borg are sick?"

The Captain stood and made her way around to where the Commander was sitting.

"I don't know what I'm suggesting. But something isn't right. The Borg are obsessed with efficiency and accuracy. This is just sloppy."

"That's why you've taken the ship to this sector without orders."

Thauk stood, letting his statement lie. He was a good few centimeters taller than the Captain, making it appear as though he was looking down on her.

"If you do not respond, I will not have to act. However, when the time comes, we will have a conversation."

Four Fifty-one took a step back and got out a "Well, I-" before she was unterrupted by Darren over the intercom.

"Engineering to the Captain."

She tapped her combadge.

"Yes, Lieutenant-Commander?"

"We've hit most of this area, and we're not seeing anything. Ensign sh'Sakahar has informed me that you want to just check the areas with star systems in them, right? I was under the impression that we were going to scan the whole area."

"No, Vara is correct. We should set course to the next search area. If we don't find anything-" she took a brief glance at Thauk, "-then we don't find anything."

"Aye. Engineering out."

Thauk said nothing as he walked out onto the bridge. He did not need to; she knew full well that the clock was ticking. Vulcans were patient, but Thauk would not play dumb forever.

"I figured you'd be on the bridge."

Vara leaned against the wall beside the Chief, who was working between two screens from his seat. A few other Engineers passed by the doorway in the time it took him to respond.

"No, I uh, can get more done here."

She craned her neck to see what he was working on. Two screens were side-by-side, on the left, one with a wire-frame image of the Themis moving through a star system, sensors sweeping in time. First the front would scan out, and then the aft, back and forth as they made their way through at low-warp.

The screen on the right was a little more difficult to figure out. It looked like text, but truncated and mixed with symbols in a seemingly random order. Whatever it was, she couldn't read it.

"Whatcha working on? Anything I can help with?"

"I'm just keeping an eye on the scans as we move through the area."

"And this?"

The Ensign pointed half-heartedly to the display on the right. Darren didn't seem to notice, but answered her question anyway.

"It's the old computer code from," he paused mid-sentence as he tapped on his datapad, "wherever this ship came from."

"So, it's really not Federation, is it?"

The Chief sighed and leaned back in his chair as he looked over the slowly scrolling blue text.

"No. But whatever it is, they were thorough in removing any trace of their work. In fact, what little _was_ left behind feels like it was tampered with."

"Yeah, like those doors in the Jeffries tubes. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to get the original decals off, but made it really obvious that something had been changed."

Darren spun his chair towards her, giving her a surprised look.

"Decals?"

"Yeah, on some of the doors in the tubes. You've never seen them? I mean its pretty obvious."

"Show them to me."

Vara took a step back, a confused expression taking over her face.

"Sure, this way."

She led them out of the room and around a path overlooking the Core from the second story. Stopping suddenly at a small meter-high door level to the ground, she got on her knees and hit the release. It slid open and she pointed inside.

"See that one back there? There's a bunch, all like that."

The Lieutenant-Commander squatted down next to her and looked at the closed door about three meters down the semi-hexagonal pipe.

The shape could best be described as a circle with a line proceeding down the center in a vertical fashion. It was all of one color, just lighter than that of the door, like it had been sand-blasted off and the Starfleet decals put over it. When the Jeffries Tube door opened, the image spit in half, half of the circle and line going to one side, and the same to the other.

The Ensign broke his concentration.

"You don't spend a lot of time in the tubes, do you?"

He shook his head. "No. That's why I have Ensigns."

She laughed.

"Yeah, well maybe you would have made all these discoveries yourself."

"Maybe. I-"

A beeping noise came from the distance.

Darren jumped to his feet and took off back towards the room they had come from. Vara soon followed, finding him tapping wildly on the left screen. The display had changed to that of a nearby system, with what looked like sound waves emanating from it.

"What, what is it?"

The Chief tapped his combadge while he indicated the orange dot on the screen with his other hand, as if that would answer her question.

"Engineering to the bridge."

Four Fifty-one's voice replied back with "Bridge."

"We found an extremely weak signal coming from the moon of a nearby system. It looks like there's a habitable area, about twenty square meters."

Darren could feel the ship slow and then change direction. After a few seconds, she responded.

"Understood, we have set a course. We will arrive in a few minutes, so I would suggest that you return to the bridge."

"Aye Captain."

Vara took the seat that the Lieutenant-Commander had been occupying previously. She was still eying the screen, watching the outline of the Themis make its way towards the moon.

The floor lurched underneath, throwing Darren to the ground, his landing cushioned only by the gray carpet. The sudden shake was soon followed by a dulled explosion from far on the other side of the ship.

Ensign sh'Sakahar reached out from her seat and pulled him up by his shoulder.

"What the heck was that?"

He took a quick look at the screen and then spun towards the exit, Vara in tow.

"Borg Sphere."

"I suppose we're about to find out why we're running all over Borg space."

Darren nodded weakly.

"I'm not so sure I want to know."

The lights flickered as Four Fifty-one gripped her chair. The ship was starting to spin against the incoming weapons-fire, bringing them up for a broadside attack.

"Where did it come from?"

"It was behind the moon."

The Borg sphere spun slowly as it lined itself up for another volley. Though the Themis outclassed the ship in almost every way, they still had to fight it with caution. If her ship's shields dropped too low, the Borg could be a threat long after their vessel was destroyed.

She turned her head back over her shoulder so she could see Darren as he entered from the turbo-lift.

"Chief, make sure our shields stay up, I don't want any drones coming onboard while we're not looking."

"I don't think that will be a problem."

He pointed to the secondary Engineering station, which Vara took, gripping the hand-holds on the side of the free standing console.

On the viewscreen, their attacker continued to whittle at their shields, trading one shot for every four that was returned to it. It was most certainly a one-sided endeavor.

There had been a time when the sight of any Borg ship, even a smaller one like a Sphere, sent other vessels packing. Now, they were merely an annoyance.

It almost made Four Fifty-one's heart sink, as though her own dignity was attached to the fearsomeness of the Collective. She pushed back against the emotion; she had no business bemoaning the fall of the Borg. They did not deserve her pity.

She shook it off just as the Sphere detonated with a final torpedo to the hull. The shockwave was weak and short-lived.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, there are no other ships in the area," came the answer from Yukiko.

Thauk leaned over to her.

"They have no doubt informed other Borg in the area of our presence, we must move quickly."

Four Fifty-one nodded to him as she stood.

"Thauk, you have the bridge. Chief, you're with me."

As the Captain made her way to the turbo-lift, she tapped her combadge.

"Lieutenant Raleigh, I need you and a security officer to report to Transporter room one."

"On our way," Melissa responded instantly.

Darren joined her in the lift, waiting until the doors closed and the Captain had set a destination before speaking.

"What exactly are we looking for?"

She shrugged.

"Don't know. Hopefully answers."

"To what?"

Four Fifty-one sighed heavily and readjusted her cuffs around her gloves nervously.

"To everything, I suppose. Maybe we'll get lucky and there won't be anything."

Darren crossed his arms and looked at her quizzically.

"Why are we here?"

"We're hunting down that signal you found at the scrapyard."

"No, I mean, why are we _here, _looking for this signal. Why did we drop everything and run out to the middle of nowhere, no _worse_, to the edge of Borg space and start poking around?"

"I wish I had an answer for you, but I don't. I keep getting glimpses of something, but I don't know what, pieces of some larger puzzle. Everything points to here."

"That doesn't help," he sighed as he leaned against the lift wall.

"No, it doesn't. But it's all I know."

"You think that the answers are down there?"

The lift stopped and the door slid open, a few officers stood aside as the Captain and Chief made their way out. Four Fifty-one waited until they were clear of the group before responding to his question.

"I don't know what's down there, but something has to be. Anything has to be."

They stepped into the transporter room, where Melissa and a short brown-haired security officer waited. Arranging themselves on the pad without a word, the Lieutenant handed her a small phaser, which she slid into a pocket on her kit.

Once Four Fifty-one was sure that the entire group, Darren, Melissa, Security and herself were all in place, she gave a quick nod to the transporter officer.

"Energize."


	16. Chapter 16: Phyletic

_Don't ignore the past, but deal with it, on your own pace. Once you deal with it, you are free of it; and you are free to embrace your life and be a happy loving person because if you don't, the past will come back to haunt and keep coming back to haunt you. _

~Boris Kodjoe

_**-16-**_

_Phyletic_

The area was dark and misshapen, a halfway point between being overgrown with roots and covered in machinery. The green glow emanating from between the cracks in the wall was unmistakably Borg.

They had transported into a small corridor off of a main chamber that wasn't much bigger than a single-occupant room aboard the ship. It was dominated by the large structure at the center that resembled a malformed cocoon of wires and metal.

Darren was the first to pop out his tricorder and begin to scan the area. He "oh" and "hm'd" to himself as he ran it around the room.

Melissa tapped him on the shoulder impatiently after a full ten seconds had gone by. He looked at her and immediately got her message, blurting out what he could.

"This is Borg technology, but it's not like any structure we've seen before. They've started assimilating the moon, but stopped just after this room. It looks like it's built to hold whatever that is."

He motioned towards metal device at the center.

The away team moved instinctively towards it, Melissa and the security officer pulling up their weapons. Despite the oddly-shaped contour of the floor, it was easy to traverse, a singular path that encircled the room.

Four Fifty-one slid her fingers down the large, flat front of the cocoon taking note of its unusally barren nature. The Borg rarely left a centimeter of empty space if it could be used.

"There's someone in there," Darren said finally. "Borg. It's kind of hard to tell much else though."

Four Fifty-one removed her hand from the device.

"Can we open it?"

"I figured that would be your next question."

The Chief tapped on the side console, mumbling to himself and returning to his tricorder every few seconds. He went on like this for several minutes, alternating between the tricorder, a control panel and other pieces of equipment scattered around the area.

"Okay, that should do it."

He rejoined the group and waited with them. After a minute had passed, the Captain leaned over to him.

"What are we waiting for?"

Darren shrugged.

"Don't know. Never seen this before. For all we know it's doing it right n-"

His sentence was interrupted by the hiss of escaping gas, followed by a thin bright line splitting the flat surface of the device in two. The sides spliced themselves into doors that dropped out and slid to the side without a sound.

Inside was the silhouette of a female form, backlit with a cool, green glow. It stayed there for only a moment before it fell forward. Her body was braced, wrapped in metal struts and cables, dropping like a doll with all the joints glued together. After a short meter fall from its original position, it stopped, the face at eye-level, appendages held to its side by taut wires.

Four Fifty-one moved up to it, pulling out her own tricorder and examining the woman. It looked like she was dead.

"Back again so soon?" the woman said, causing Four Fifty-one to jump. She knew that voice.

"I am?"

She raised her head and looked at the Captain. Her face went from a grimace to a smirk.

"Oh, it's you, 451."

"How do you know me?"

"You already have that answer, daughter."

"You're a Queen."

The Queen's voice was weak and raspy. Though she put on an air of strength, the woman was drained, forcing words out between labored breaths.

"You will remove me from this prison and take me to your ship. There we will discuss all of your many questions. Then you will agree to help me."

"Why should I do any of this?"

The Queen reached up with a partially-freed arm and placed it on the Captain's shoulder. Melissa raised her weapon, but was stopped by Four Fifty-one's hand on the barrel.

"Because you have to, and because you should. I would be quick, the monster is coming and it will not be pleased that you found me."

"The monster?"

The Queen did not get a chance to respond as Thauk interrupted them.

"Captain, we are picking up four Borg Cubes just coming into range. They haven't detected us, but I would suggest that you move quickly."

Four Fifty-one tapped her combadge.

"Understood, we are ready to beam back. We have an extra passenger."

"An extra?"

"Someone we found. Have security and medical meet us at the transporter room. We will need a gurney as well. Once we're aboard, take us out."

"Aye Captain."

The Queen caressed the pins on Four Fifty-one's collar, smiling as she did so.

"You were always the good one."

When they materialized several Security officers were waiting, the few nurses just barely pulling in after the away team had stepped off of the transporter pad. The gurney floated a meter or so off of the ground behind them, silently coming to a halt at Four Fifty-one's knees.

She dropped the Queen unceremoniously onto the bed and proceeded out of the room, throwing a few orders to the officers as she passed them.

"Let me know when she's conscious. Keep her under guard and don't let her move unless I say other wise. Commander Thauk, remain on the bridge."

Her First Officer, as well as the medical staff's response was drowned out by the closing door, but Melissa's could be heard clearly. The Lieutenant had followed Four Fifty-one's brisk retreat quite closely.

"Captain, E'Lev has requested to speak to you again, this time with the Romulan Commander."

"Fine, bring them all by my quarters in an hour."

She didn't wait for Melissa to respond, talking in a louder voice to the computer.

"Time."

"Eight thirty-seven," the ship responded.

Four Fifty-one turned back to Melissa as she quickened her pace.

"I have a prior engagement."

"I know. I've already taken care of it. Will this be a regular thing?"

The Captain took in a breath and let it out, waiting until they had rounded a corner before responding.

"No. It will be ending shortly."

Lieutenant Raleigh grabbed Four Fifty-one by the shoulder and brought them both to a stop. She locked her eyes on the Captain and held them there for a moment before speaking.

"Normally, I do not like to pry, but this is the fourth time I've had one of my officers quietly escort that woman to your quarters."

"What is your question?"

Melissa didn't say anything, keeping her gaze locked. After a brief stare-down, Four Fifty-one relented, responding to the unstated question as she resumed walking.

"After I was first disconnected from the Collective, I knew no one and had no friends, outside of my family. She provided some much-needed relief from that loneliness."

"An old friend, of sorts?"

"Of sorts, yes. We did not leave on the most amicable of terms. It is nice that we have been able to spend some time together, even given my odd schedule."

The Lieutenant shot a glance at the Captain.

"I noticed the implant on her neck, I thought maybe, you two, were you know."

"Were what?"

"In the Collective together, or something."

"Oh. No, nothing like that. We met at an L.A.F."

They stopped at the Captain's quarters. Melissa started to back away to leave but stopped when the Doctor's voice came over the intercom.

"Medical to Captain."

Four Fifty-one tapped her combadge.

"Yes doctor?"

"We're not able to do much for the Queen here. Darren has suggested that we bring in an Engineering team."

"Go ahead with Lieutenant-Commander Darren's recommendation. I believe this is his area of expertise."

"Understood. Medical out."

The intercom chirped off and Melissa continued her walk away, talking back over her shoulder as she did.

"Well, I'll be back here in an hour with the Romulans."

Four Fifty-one nodded as she opened the door to her quarters and proceeded inside.

Nina was on the floor with Three, surrounded by a wide selection of toys, most falling into the category of dolls and related items. She waggled a plush animal at the Captain.

"Hey there, we're playing house! Wanna play?"

Four Fifty-one nodded yes and gave her uniform the command to relax into something more casual.

It occurred to her that if she were acting more responsibly that she would put the child to bed and returned to being a Captain. However, what was the point of being the Captain, if she couldn't exercise her powers and stop everything for once?

The ship would not explode. The Romulans would not attack the colonists. The Queen would not assimilate anyone. Her officers would not stop their duties. By a small moment of passive neglect she would make them all wait. They could resume pulling her in a thousand different directions in an hour or so.

She sat at one of the few clear places on the floor and picked up a doll.

Four Fifty-one was careful to walk out of Three's room as quietly as she could, so she did not wake the child. Once the door was closed, she breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the woman sitting on her couch.

Nina smiled and made the fluffy bear in her hand wave.

"Well, she gets cuter every time I see her."

The Captain shrugged and plopped herself next to her.

"Oh, don't let her fool you. She can be a little terror if she wants."

"I'd still take her..." She gave a sly wink. "...and her mom."

"Nina. I can't-"

She interrupted Four Fifty-one, waving her hands around.

"I know! I know! I'm just kidding. Well, not really, but you know."

"That's just not me. I understand that now."

Nina scooted closer to Four Fifty-one and laid her head on her shoulder.

"It's okay. It really is. I just want you to be happy. I'd rather it was with me, but I can't pretend that I can control that."

"I'm glad to hear that. I'm also glad you're happy with... what's her name?"

"Rachel. And she can be a pain, too. We have a love-hate relationship."

Four Fifty-one snickered.

"Love most of the time, hate the rest?"

"Nah. That's a common misconception. Love-hate relationships don't work like that. I want to be with her the rest of my life just as much as I want to knife her and throw her body in a river."

She looked down at Nina.

"That is a joke, right?"  
"Sure, if you want," Nina said with a coy smile.

The door chimed, startling her to an upright position. Four Fifty-one stood slowly and made her way to the door, answering the question on her guest's face as she did.

"I completely forgot about the Romulans."

"Romulans?"

"We picked them up a while ago. They're rather hostile towards the colonists, for reasons I can't divulge."

"Am I going to be a problem?"

Four Fifty-one stopped at the door, giving the command to her uniform to change to "formal."

"I doubt it. I'll have them come in and Security will escort you back."

She tapped the door control and it slid open to reveal Melissa, a few security guards and the two Romulans E'Lev and Commander T'vik. She stood aside and gestured to the approaching Nina and started to give instructions to take her back to the Cargo-hold. However, the Captain didn't get two words out before the Commander popped off one of his cuff-links and pressed the top of it down.

It hummed up in less than a second, like it was charging. He brought his arm up, aimed at the two in the door and pressed another button on the glowing device.

Four Fifty-one hit his arm in the air followed by a punch in his stomach from Melissa. The Commander crumpled to the floor as his weapon discharged into the wall, sending sparks everywhere.

Lieutenant Raleigh kicked him over onto his back and pulled her weapon.

"Stay right there!"

T'vik held one of his arms up, the other wrapped around his midsection and shook his head back and forth. His voice was raspy, the words being squeezed out from behind his poor breathing.

"That's, that's it..."

Melissa flipped her weapon to the kill setting, the whine of the phaser adding a bit of extra incentive.

"What's it? The Captain?"

"No. The Undine. That's the Undine."

His outstretched hand pointed clearly to Nina, who looked just as surprised as everyone else.

"I-I'm not that." She stuttered before turning to Four Fifty-one.

"But, we've known each other for... for years! We were at the L.A.F. together. How could I be an Undine? That doesn't make any sense!"

The Captain nodded and looked to Melissa who was still training her gun on the recovering Romulan Commander.

The Lieutenant, after a set of brief glances between all the involved parties, turned back to Four Fifty-one.

"We have to take her into custody. It's protocol."

With a reluctant tap of the head towards her Security Chief, the Captain returned to Nina. She could see the tears forming in the woman's eyes.

"I need you to go with Security to the Brig. I'll make sure you are treated fairly, but you have to cooperate."

She gave Nina a squeeze of the shoulder and turned her over to one of the guards. Nina gave glances back to Four Fifty-one as she was lead away.

"And these two?" Melissa said, gesturing to the two Romulans, now both on their feet.

Four Fifty-one looked back and forth between T'vik and E'Lev.

"I think you have strained our hospitality to the breaking point. Take them to the Brig as well. Make sure they're as far away from Nina as possible. We'll sort this out later."

E'Lev leaned towards the Captain but was stopped by a phaser to the ribs. He gave a brief glance to the offending security officer before leveling his gaze on Four Fifty-one.

"I would just like you to know that I had no idea this was going to happen."

She nodded slowly.

"I believe you, if only because I don't think anyone here was expecting this. However, you're still going to the brig."

"Of course."

He gave a casual smile and turned away from Four Fifty-one, letting his escort take him in the same direction as Nina.

Melissa stayed behind, moving in as close to the Captain as she could.

"So? What do we do now?"

Four Fifty-one took in and let out a deep breath.

"Check Nina for Borg nanprobes. If she has active ones, then she can't be Undine. That will clear her of those charges. Yukiko would probably be the best choice to do the procedure."

The intercom chirped on, followed by Darren's voice.

"Captain, I think the Queen is, um, up? She's quite interested in talking to you."

Four Fifty-one hit her combadge.

"Understood, Chief."

She turned back to the Lieutenant.

"If it's not one thing, its another."

The isolation lab, like most of the ship, was well lit, leaving only the scattered corner for darkness to hide. The inner chamber was but a few meters smaller than the main room and made of clear and white metal, giving it a pristine sheen that its contents did not deserve. Four Fifty-one could not deny that the area felt darker than it should. The prisoner's relaxed smile dimmed everything around it, a vortex pulling in and consuming every stray beam of light.

The Queen branched out her arms, placing them on both sides of the glass door and leaned as close to her captors as the window would allow.

"Aren't you going to come in Four Fifty-one? We have so much to talk about."

Melissa unholstered her weapon and gave the guard at the door controls a nod. He turned and opened the door, forcing the Queen to pull back as it moved under her fingertips.

Four Fifty-one proceeded through first, holding out her hand to stop the following Lieutenant.

"No, Raleigh, I need Security to wait outside the main chamber."

She shook her head at Four Fifty-one.

"That's a Borg _Queen_, Captain. I can't leave you alone with her."

Four Fifty-one's gaze did not deviate from the prisoner.

"You can, and you need to. I feel that we may not get the information we need otherwise."

Melissa huffed in defiance before rounding up the other Security personnel and stationing them outside in the hall. When the outer door had closed and the chambers were empty, Four Fifty-one walked towards the Queen, locking the door with a slap.

The woman's smile deepened, noting the locked door.

"You do not trust me, daughter?"

"In a word, no."

"That is too bad, but I forgive you. Come to me."

Four Fifty-one cocked her head sideways and then slowly shook it.

"I do not think I will be doing that."

"Stow your pride, and give your mother a hug."

"I said no."

"If you do not, then I will not answer your questions."

Letting out a defeated sigh, she did so, wrapping her arms reluctantly around the mass of wires that only vaguely resembled a human form. The Queen squeezed back, propping her chin on the Captain's shoulder.

"Oh, I've missed you so much Four Fifty-one. It has been so long. I knew that you would eventually find me."

She released and pulled away, guiding the two of them to a small table and chairs at the center of the white room. When they had seated, the Queen leaned forward and looked at her with the same smirk as before. It was a strange feeling for Four Fifty-one, staring into that face, like being both lost and at home simultaneously.

The Captain crossed her arms as she started in on her pre-made list of questions.

"Why were you in that installation?"

"That's not the question you want to ask."

Four Fifty-one nodded weakly to her. It was true. That's not the question she wanted to ask, but it was one of hundreds that she needed answered. Relenting, she asked the most important one to her.

"Why was I created?"

The Queen smiled slyly and brought her voice down to a whisper.

"How human do you think you are?"

"I don't understand why-"

"I cooperate with you, and you cooperate with me. How human do you think you are?"

"Mostly." Four Fifty-one responded flatly. "I have integrated into human society quite well. What does that matter?"

"It matters because you are not. You were bred by the Collective for a specific purpose, and you are ours. Though we can never have you back."

Four Fifty-one's brow furrowed. The Queen seemed eminently pleased with the confused look of the former drone, and waited for her to speak.

"I have no interest in returning to the Collective, however the way you phrased yourself makes it seem as though even if I should, I could not."

The Queen took in a deep breath.

"No, sadly you may never join us again, and that leads us into our current problem."

"Why?"

"It is a long, convoluted story, full of pieces that I cannot reveal, and things you should not know," she said, reaching up to draw her finger along Four Fifty-one's Imager. After running a hand over the outside of the implant, she continued.

"Decades ago, when we were fighting Species 8472, we found that some races were either resistant, or immune to the genetic effects of being absorbed by the creatures. We created a Natal project to breed drones that displayed a certain epigenetic arrangement."

"Cube 769392223"

She nodded at Four Fifty-one's statement but did not deviate from her story.

"However, we learned that the epigenetic code made the drones unable to be re-assimilated if disconnected. Also, they retained their own Prime status."

"They refused to let go of their individuality. You couldn't control them, and they challenged you."

"It is significantly more complex than that, but yes. When we determined that units were of no use to us, we disengaged all of them and placed them on a single cube. The Cube was attacked shortly thereafter."

"And destroyed. I was there, twice actually. What does that have to do with..."

Four Fifty-one froze for a second and then answered her own question.

"You assimilated one of the modified drones, you fought with it for control and it won."

"To summarize over two decade's worth of injustices, yes. My last effort as Queen was to send one of my few remaining Spheres to make sure at least one of the Natal drones survived and had the coordinates to find me."

She leaned back in the chair, rubbing the tabletop for a few seconds before continuing.

"They succeeded in that, however, they were destroyed before they could kill the offending drone."

"So how did you know who the drone was?"

"I didn't, not until I met the monster. I sent the data to the Sphere, but it was destroyed before it could kill the drone. Unknowingly, I had created the very thing that would remove me from power, and offer my salvation."

"Me."

The Queen laughed and waved her finger at the Captain.

"Oh, that pride again, daughter. You were just the only one to figure it out and come find me. It didn't have to be you. There were four of you originally."

"Four? There were Five"

"No, one of you was the monster, but it wasn't until I was captured that I realized the error. An eternity in a cocoon will do wonders for sorting out temporal paradoxes. There were four of my beautiful children, and one traitor, a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"So, why us?"

She slid her hand across the table and lightly caressed Four Fifty-one's. The Captain didn't like the physical attention, but she was afraid to interrupt. She let the Queen touch whatever she wanted as long as she kept talking.

"Because that beast cannot assimilate you, and it knows it. But more importantly, you're the only one who can put me back in power and save the Collective from the slow crumble into ruin."

"Why should I care if the Borg collapse in on themselves?"

The Queen leaned as close to Four Fifty-one as she could, her smile gone. There was an intensity in her eyes that brought the Captain's heart to a stop.

"Because a storm is coming, Four Fifty-one, one that the Borg have been preparing many millennia to weather. You like to think of us as malevolent, but when the thunder rolls through this dimension, the Collective will be the only shelter."

"Who?"  
"Who it is, is irrelevant. The fact is, they are coming."

"How do I know that this is even true? How do I know that we won't be better off without the Borg?"

"Because you can't afford for it not to be true, daughter. You can feel it, can't you? The fear that the Collective might actually be wiped from existence. You're not like them, the other drones. We did not assimilate you, we gave birth to you."

The Queen lurched at Four Fifty-one, grabbing her uniform and pulling the Captain towards her in one swift move. Her strength was immense, and she easily overpowered Four Fifty-one, dragging her over the table like doll.

She stopped suddenly, rolling the pins on Four Fifty-one's collar between two of her fingers, speaking in a raspy hushed tone.

"No matter how many awards you get, or how many years you spend with the humans, you will never belong here. You will always be an outsider. Like it or not Four Fifty-one, we are your people. You will not let us die."

With that she released the Captain and relaxed back into her chair. Four Fifty-one readjusted the top half of her uniform and shakily remained standing.

Her voice quaked a bit, not from fear of what had transpired, but of fear that the Queen was right. In the end, there was only one course of action.

"S-so, what do we do?"

"You will give me some method of contacting the remainder of the Collective forces in the area. Then we will go to the monster's hovel, and you will destroy it."

"How?"

"We can convince the creature to meet with you. I'm sure you'll be of much interest to it. Then you will kill it and I will resume my rightful place."

Four Fifty-one tapped her combadge as she stood. She fought her rapid breathing to a standstill.

"Captain, to Engineering."

The intercom chirped back.

"Darren here."

"Chief, what would be the best way to send a message as far as possible?"

"Well, um, if you're looking for sheer range, and not much else, I guess the main deflector would be the way to go. Why?"

The Queen stayed at the table, hands folded in her lap and eyes closed as Four Fifty-one made her way to the exit.

"I need you to set it up so that the Queen can send a long-range message."

"Captain, deflector control is in main Engineering. Are we sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm afraid we have little choice. Let me know when the modifications have been made."

There was an audible huff from Darren, which she ignored.

"Aye, Captain."

She hit her combadge to close the connection and keyed in her code into the door. When it slid open, the Queen spoke, eyes still closed as if asleep.

"The monster awaits you, daughter."

She opened her eyes and turned her head towards the Captain, the rest of her body remaining perfectly still.

"Prepare yourself. You will not like what we find."

Between the three Security personnel and the two Science officers, the brig was more heavily populated than Yukiko had ever seen. The out of place red-headed colonist sitting on the chair in the center looked nervously around the room, the apprehension written all over her face.

Anagnostou felt sorry for the poor woman under her care, but there was little else she could do to make her more comfortable. The few tests they did have for differentiating Undine from natural humans were poor indicators at best. The DNA fold that the creatures did to appear human was remarkable, packing their multi-strand system into two almost seamlessly.

The alien could pull itself apart at the cellular level and rebuild everything into whatever it needed at the time. It was no small wonder the Borg regarded them with such disdain; they were a formidable enemy.

"Okay, Satumi, let's hit that third set with an AmpFLP and see if we can't combine that with the others to get a higher-resolution model of those VNTRs."

The Liberated Vulcan nodded and ran the scans, looking back and forth between two viewfinders to check the process.

The door behind them opened, and Yukiko turned to see the Captain walking in with one hand on her temple. She rubbed it slowly as she came to a stop next to the temporary station they had set up.

"Have you found out anything?"

Anagnostou shook her head and pointed to a small screen to her side.

"If she's a fake, she's an incredibly well-made one."

"What about active nanoprobes? Since she's Liberated, she can't be both assimilated and Undine."

"That was where we first looked, but the tests were inconclusive. All of the implants in her body are in a deactivated state."

"What would cause that?"

Satumi came up behind Yukiko, and interjected herself into the conversation.

"I ran some tests comparing my active nanoprobes with hers. They could have been put in deactivated or have shut down due to lack of use. It could go either way."

Four Fifty-one nodded and turned to look at the woman cowering in the brig, arms wrapped around her legs. Nina looked back at her over the top of her knees.

The Captain stepped up to the forcefield console and lowered it. She stepped inside and stood in front of Nina, holding out her hand.

"I can't see any reason to hold you any longer."

Nina didn't grab the offered hand, opting to cling tighter to her legs.

"What if I am an Undine and I suddenly change back?"

Four Fifty-one lowered her voice and leaned on the woman's knees.

"We have no evidence that it's true. You're free to go."

"I don't want to be one of those things. I don't want to change back and hurt someone."

"You aren't one of those _things_. Even if you were, you don't have it in you to hurt anyone."

"What about the Romulans? Am I going to cause a problem with them?"

Four Fifty-one let out a little chuckle and pushed herself off of Nina. She offered her hand again, this time more insistently.

"Believe me, the Romulans are the least of our worries. Now get up. I'm a very busy woman and I don't have time to argue with stubborn colonists."

Nina got to her feet with the Captain's help and was ushered quickly towards the exit with security. When she had gone, Four Fifty-one turned back towards the two science officers.

"I need you to keep working on this, in the off chance that the Romulans were right."

When she got a nod of understanding from both of them, she continued.

"Anagnostou, I'm going to need you to return to your position on the bridge."

Yukiko pointed back over her shoulder.

"I'll put Satumi and Steven on it. They're the two most qualified."

"As you wish."

Four Fifty-one turned and headed out the door and into the hall, but was stopped abruptly by Commander Thauk. He was standing as solidly as he could, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

"I believe we are long overdue for a conversation."

The Captain folded her arms and sighed.

"Yes, I suppose we are."

Thauk stood with his hands behind his back, patiently waiting for Four Fifty-one to start talking. She had been pacing around the Ready Room, trying to put her thoughts together, stopping momentarily to stare out of the window.

"Perhaps if you started at the beginning, Captain."

Four Fifty-one turned back to him, removing the finger from her bottom lip.

"That's a good question. Where is the beginning? I suppose the middle is actually the beginning."

"Riddles?"  
"No, unfortunately. When I was aboard the Áo Dài-"

She took her seat and gestured for the Commander to do so as well.

"-we encountered an artificial time distortion which sent us back to the exact place and time that my siblings and I were liberated."

Thauk sat down and folded his hands in front of him, silently listening to Four Fifty-one.

"We destroyed the Cube attacking the ship and thus set in motion a series of events that can most easily be described as a cluster of paradoxes. I liberated myself. I lost both my brother and sister before they were disconnected..."

She mumbled off to herself, trying to keep the facts in order as best she could, rearranging sentences as soon as they were formed.

"...and then we got back. But- but that Cube contained a special type of drone that once disconnected, could not be re-assimilated and subjugated to the Collective. A side-effect of the experiments the Borg were running."

"And the Collective unwittingly assimilated one of these drones, and in doing so, dethroned the Queen. Now, you want to put her back in power."

"Exactly. How did you figure that out?"

"Logical induction. However, I cannot fathom as to why."

Four Fifty-one shook her head slowly at the Commander while looking off to the side. Her gaze darted back to him when she started speaking again.

"The Borg have a larger purpose than we know. If they fall, there could be enormous consequences."

"That question has always bothered me. That of 'Why?' We know they assimilate in their drive for perfection, but that has always been an unsatisfactory motivation."

"It is. The Queen says the Borg are gatekeepers, preparing for something. Her description of it was so poetic, so unlike the Collective. On some level, I know she's right."

"If all you have is intuition then my official recommendation is to return her to a qualified research laboratory for study. I doubt you will take my advice."

The Captain cracked a smile.

"No, unfortunately not. We will try to return the Queen to power and hopefully right this decades-old imbalance before it's too late, if it isn't already."

"You believe this will be quick?"  
"I don't know how fast it will be. I imagine that once re-instated, the Queen will regain power at a fairly decent speed, but rebuilding the Collective could take much longer."

"Retaking the Collective could take a long while."

Four Fifty-one nodded and relaxed in her chair. The smile faded a bit as the burden reasserted itself.

"Possibly. The Queen would rather destroy her own ship than be dethroned, which tells me that she was removed from power swiftly. I am assuming that putting her back will only be a matter of removing the offending drone."

"And how will you do this?"

"No idea. The Queen seems to think that the drone will be interested in me, perhaps as a lure? I wish I had a better plan, but right now I'm playing it by ear."

"However," Thauk started, and then paused. He started again when he had completed his thought.

"However, this does raise a question, about the time distortion."

"It does?"

"Who made it? It doesn't seem to be the Queen; she wouldn't create the means by which she was dethroned. The drone that took over didn't create it, they weren't in power yet. The Starfleet ships didn't..."

Four Fifty-one gave him a meaningful nod, her finger returning to her lip.

"You are correct. I'll add that to the many, many questions I have. So much of this is still unknown."

"Yet we are proceeding."

"As if we have a choice."

The Captain stood and walked around her desk to the exit. Thauk did the same, but did not follow her.

"I think it goes without saying, but just in case," she pivoted in the open door, "if the choice comes down to me or the people on this ship, leave me to my own stupidity."

"Understood."

"You have the bridge. I need to go to Engineering and see how my folly is progressing."

When she had left, Thauk moved out onto the bridge and looked around. Though he was Vulcan, he could see emotion even where it was attempting to hide. Confusion and fear ran over the faces of everyone. He could find no fault with their disposition.

Four Fifty-one tapped the datapad in her hand on her thigh, waiting for the Chief to offer his report. He looked frazzled, obviously not impressed with the small security detachment assigned to protect his department.

"Well, she's been connected in, and we're seeing all kinds of broadcasts, but so far I'd say that there aren't any takers."

Darren leaned up against the wall console pointing to the data criss-crossing the screen. Four Fifty-one recognized certain patterns, but not anything that told her the contents of the transmissions.

The Queen was in a hastily-constructed alcove, not a meter from them. Her eyes were closed, as if asleep, but there was no doubt that she was hard at work. The white light from the core that reflected off of her face made her look more pale, more weak than she had previously. Four Fifty-one almost felt sad for the fallen royalty, reduced to begging from her estranged children.

"Make sure you keep an eye on her," She said, turning to the three security officers that stood around the Queen, "if she does anything suspicious, shoot her."

"Do you not trust me, daughter?"

The Queen's eyes had opened, and she looked at Four Fifty-one as if she was the only person in the room. Her wicked smile crawled up the side of her white face.

"I'm taking a lot on faith, _mother_." Four Fifty-one spit the word out as if it tasted of acid, "I'm not risking any more for you."

"Distrust aside, I have located a few ships."

"Only a few?"

"Four. They will last long enough for you to make yourself known."

Darren looked to the Captain.

"You?"

"Yes," Four Fifty-one said reluctantly, "she believes that I will have significant sway with the new Queen, since we are of the same type."

"Okay, so wait. We're going to fly into Borg space, with Borg cubes, attack the Borg and hope that they want to talk to you. This doesn't sound insane to anyone else?"

He threw his arms apart and looked around and was met with a couple of affirmative shrugs from other officers. The Captain agreed with a nod.

"I admit that it is not the most ideal situation."

"Ideal has nothing to do with it! This is ludicrous! What's the plan? Just show up and shoot them?"

"I assure you that I have a plan, Darren."

"This is where a drone would be more useful than a free-thinking human," the Queen remarked snidely.

Four Fifty-one's hand shot up, stopping within centimeters of the Queen's nose. A stiff, shaking finger pointed directly into the dead face of the woman.

"You stay out of this."

The Captain returned to the Chief and slid her finger across the pad in her hand, bringing up specifications for some old weapon modifications. She held it up to him.

"I do have a plan, but it's best if we kept it private. I had intended to talk with you about this later, but I suppose now is as good as any time."

Darren took the pad and glanced it over. After a few seconds he looked up at her, eyes wide.

"Are you sure? There is a significant risk that this could kill you, too. Not to mention the schematics are very very old."

"I need this because it's concealable and unconventional. Can you make it work?"

"Yeah, yeah."

The Queen leaned forward in her alcove, pulling the wires connecting the back of her head to the alcove taut. She craned her neck to see the pad but was unable.

"Am I not to know?"

Four Fifty-one placed her hand flat on the Queen's chest and pushed her back into the alcove with a shove. Her smirk turned to a grimace.

"No, dear mother, you're just going to have to trust me."


	17. Chapter 17: Downfall

_When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are.  
It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us.  
It means that if we meet again, you will know me.  
It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.  
For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost._

Frederick Buechner

_**-17-**_

_Downfall_

Four Fifty-one grabbed the armrest of the Captain's chair, landing herself in it just before the entire ship lurched forward. She pulled herself snuggly into the seat.

"Astrometrics up. Tactical view."

The bridge darkened, and turned semi-translucent as the Astrometrics system started. The Queen had about three Cubes and a few Spheres in the area. It was a pitiful force against the onslaught, and now that all the ships were enumerated around them, even more so.

They were outmatched somewhere in the range of twenty-to-one, which was well under the estimates though far over ideal. As per their instructions, they fired a few times when a ship got close enough, but they spent the majority of their time hanging back, broadcasting.

A Tactical Cube to their side detonated, forcing the Themis to veer away and directly into oncoming fire. The shields flickered with the rumbling through the ship.

"Anyone answering?"

Brett's voice could be heard through the deep booms.

"No, we are being ignored."

"Keep transmitting."

"Aye."

Thauk leaned over to her, speaking in his normal monotone voice, but at an elevated volume that almost approached yelling.

"We should retreat, Captain. They are not responding to our hails."

"Not yet."

"It is evident that they have no wish to communicate. Once the Queen's vessels are destroyed it will be a small matter to do the same to us."

"We've come this far, we can't stop."

The shockwave of another exploding Cube rocked the ship, acting as a rebuttle to Four Fifty-one's plea.

"To what end? If we stay here we will be destroyed," Thauk insisted.

"I can't let them be destroyed!" Her voice was shrill over the sound of incoming fire hitting the weakening shields. Now that the Queen's ships had fallen, the Themis was but one of a few targets available.

Thauk leaned in farther, trying to get close enough that he did not have to yell.

"I understand your need to protect your people. However, those on this ship are your people as well. They have suffered much, silently, to bring you this far. It would not be wise to abandon them."

With that he relaxed back into his chair, as if no more was to be said.

Four Fifty-one sat quietly for a moment and then stood slowly, one arm bracing herself against her chair.

"Helm."

"Yes Captain?"

"Set a course back to the Omega Fleet, maximum warp. Engage Slipstream when able."

"Aye, Captain."

The Themis came about quickly for a ship of its size. The engines humming up behind the sound of the scatter weapons-fire. They released, like a rubber-band, but the stars did not move.

She turned to the Darren.

"What's going on?"

"Tractor beam."

"Give everything to the engines."

"I am, we're not budging."

The Astrometrics system rotated to show their aggressor, a large Tactical Cube directly behind them. It had three beams reaching out and holding the Themis in place.

The consoles on the ship began to flicker, powering down and back up at arbitrary intervals. She looked back to the Chief for an explanation.

"It's a computer virus, unlike I've ever seen the Borg use. They're corrupting everything in our memory banks. Our shields are dropping."

The panicked voice of Lieutenant Raleigh came over the intercom.

"Bridge, this is Security. We've got Borg drones all over the ship."

"Acknowledged. Where are you, Lieutenant?"

"We're right outside of the Engineering Labs, why?"

The Captain looked to Darren.

"Please tell me that my new combadge is inside one of those labs."

"Yes, and the rifle. Lab three, near the front."

Four Fifty-one returned to her conversation with Melissa.

"Alright. I'm headed there now."

She made her way to the Engineering station, stopping just in front of Darren.

"Do we have site-to-site transport available?"

He nodded.

"Yes, for now."

"Beam me to the Lab, and when I rendezvous with the security detachment, take us to Engineering. Perhaps the Queen will have some idea of what we should do to get us out of this mess."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then we'll protect Engineering."

Four Fifty-one stood rigidly, awaiting transport.

"They always go to Engineering first, anyway."

The transporter hadn't finished materializing her before she started to scan the room for the rifle. Four Fifty-one found it on the messy workbench in the front, laying on top of an assortment of spare parts. It looked like Darren had just finished it prior to being called away. He probably didn't have time to test it.

Four Fifty-one picked it up and swiftly wrapped the strap around her shoulder. She pulled off her own combadge, placed it in her pocket and took the one laying on the table before heading to the exit.

The doors swished open to the corridor that lead down to the rear of the ship. Two drones not farther than a footstep away noticed her and immediately moved in.

Four Fifty-one had little time to react, swinging the rifle butt around as hard as she could. The hit landed on the jaw of the one in front and sent it reeling backwards. She retreated back as quickly as she could, taking a glance at the fallen drone. It did not seem to be getting back up.

The second one paid little mind to its felled accomplice, stepping over the body as it moved steadily towards her. It shot its hand forward in an attempt to grab her, and missed, but got a grip on the strap.

She contemplated struggling for the gun, but after a moment's thought, gave it up and continued to fall back. If she guessed right, then he'd drop the weapon and continue after her.

Slipping away as best she could, she tumbled backwards over the table behind her and looked for another weapon. The drone was faster than she guessed, tossing the gun over his head, out into the hall, and continuing on his way to her.

Four Fifty-one was physically stronger than a woman of her build had any right to be, but she knew the first knock-out was more luck than anything. She looked around the area, hoping to find a weapon of some sort, settling on a nearby tool. With a forceful grunt, she jumped up and swung at him.

It connected, but it did little. He shook the attack off quickly, and grabbed Four Fifty-one by the uniform. The drone lifted her into the air, pulling her towards him. She let go with a storm of poorly-placed punches, dropping as many on his face as she could manage.

His grip loosened and he fell to the floor in a heap. She was thrown down with the drone, putting her back into her previous position behind the table. The second she hit the floor, she was back up, prepared to fight him when he returned to his feet.

However, he was not there, replaced by Lieutenant Raleigh and her security team, which looked to be down by a few.

"Captain, are you okay?"

Four Fifty-one nodded weakly as she made her way towards them, crouching as she went into the wall. Her shoulder slammed against it as she used it less for cover and more for holding her weight. It hurt momentarily, but it was followed by a few seconds of relief.

She held out her hand for her rifle as she talked.

"How many?"

One of the officers handed it to her as he took up a spot next to her on the same wall.

"Seven or so here, a couple other groups throughout the ship."

She talked to her uniform as she looked around the corner.

"Uniform, battle."

There were a few drones down the corridor, working on a wall console. She wasn't sure that they knew she was here, but it was best to play it safe.

Four Fifty-one popped the scope off of her rifle and dropped it to the ground. The officer beside her powered up his weapon as he followed the Captain's lead.

"I thought we had a truce with them or something."

Four Fifty-one shook her head as she returned to them.

"I am unsure we had any formal arrangement. However, diplomacy is not Borg."

"Aye. So do we set up here and keep them from the bridge?"

"No. They always go to Engineering first."

She pulled back and stood, pointing to the two officers that were farthest away from her.

"Lieutenant Raleigh, you will hold position here with your team, the rest with me."

Melissa didn't say anything, nodding to the Captain and giving a few hand signals to her group. They headed away, turning towards the crew decks.

When they had gone, she turned in the opposite direction and gave the transport command to the computer.

They materialized in front of four drones working on a wall panel. Her team caught the group by surprise, dropping them before they had even turned to face their attackers. The officer behind her was shouting to the others.

"Remember to vaporize them! We don't want any of these getting back up."

She stopped herself before she reprimanded the man. There was no saving the drones, and she knew that. Instead, she opted to motion for the team to follow her down the eerily empty hallway.

At the door to Main Engineering, level two, she gestured for them to enter with one left, one right and to hold fire. In they went.

The room was dead silent, the floor scattered with Starfleet officers, making it appear more like a disorganized morgue than an Engineering room. The light from the warp core scattered about the place, layering everything in broken shadows.

The dead still breathed, their bodies slowly succumbing to an infection creeping across their skin. They could be helped, assuming that it wasn't already too late for everyone already.

The Queen's former alcove behind the warp core was now empty, but had grown up the wall and across the top of the room. Like a dead tree, sprouting from a single planted seed, it sprawled out, corrupting everything in its path. A round sack hung from the ceiling, just large enough for a person to fit. She shuddered at the thought of what might be inside.

One of the officers pointed to the dead body with the barrel of his gun. She shook her head no, and he shrugged back, begrudgingly.

"Four Fifty-one," a voice boomed from overhead.

She recognized the monster, as it had been etched into her mind from years of repetition. With every syllable it brought with it a wave of pain and anger. Even submerged as it was with the voices of the bodies around her speaking in unison with it, it was still strong and insistent.

Four Fifty-one asked the only question she could force past her lips.

"Who are you?"  
"You know who I am."

As though offering another answer, the cocoon on the ceiling split open like a flower revealing its petals. Long, spidery legs grabbed the person inside and lowered her to the other side of the metal walkway that spanned the distance between her and the warp core.

As if there was any doubt to be shed, the voice was who she knew it to be. The woman spread her arms, welcoming Four Fifty-one to her, but the Captain did not move.

The creature walked in a strong but twitchy manner, as though she had not done so in years. The Borg implants dripped down around her body, the wires forming streams of technology, roots planting themselves into her skin.

Four Fifty-one centered her shot on the woman's head, but she knew that she would not be able to fire. Not yet.

"So you're a Queen now?"

The monster laughed, chorused by the others on the floor around her and voices from far in the distance.

"Dear, I'd never allow myself to become something so worthless as a Queen."

Four Fifty-one's finger tapped the trigger lightly as she relaxed the butt into her shoulder.

"Then what is your purpose here?"

"To answer that question, for you."

The creature stopped in front of her and held out its hand, the cold and death emanating off of it like an aura. It sapped everything from her even though it did not come near touching her.

"Come," it said insistently, "let me show you what wonderful things the Hive has for you. Let me show you why we created you. Let me show you why we love you."

The sympathy fell away from the words, even though Four Fifty-one could see it forced into her face. There was so much anger for that face, so much pain, sadness and hate. But there was love, so much love.

Four Fifty-one did what she had to do, what she needed to do. She reached out and grabbed Three-Twelve's hand.

Four Fifty-one had never seen a crypt, but she was sure that this was one. The grated walkway beneath her feet stood over a vast pit with row after row of sparsely-populated alcoves. Dead white faces accented the numerous black empty bays that stretched on for as far as she could see in every direction.

At the end of the small bridge before her was the Throne, a mobile nexus for this branch of the Hive. A reflective sheen covered the flat wall behind it, wires punctuating the mirror at odd intervals and winding their way across and back. That Three-Twelve came and went from it with ease showed how far her sister had come, not that the current position of the Queen didn't emphasize that.

She had been strung up as a trophy, in a corner. Her body, or the machinery that could be designated as such, fell limp below her head. A series of metal spikes held her aloft, twisting into and around her with a ferocity that seemed more like cruelty than an act of the Three-Twelve she knew.

For what little time Four Fifty-one had been given to adjust to the situation, she'd been hoping that the woman who had invited her here was indeed a monster, rendered in the form of her sister. It was clear that she was but a doppleganger contorted to her sister's form. The monster before her was none other than hollow Three-Twelve, a warped and dark visage of death on the Throne.

A group of other drones surrounded her, two on either side, like guards. It took Four Fifty-one a moment to recognized them, but the MACO gear beneath the mass of wires and implants was unmistakable. Though they were at a distance, the layers of Borg technology and Federation armor they wore made them massive beasts, gigantic against the Captain's small form. Even the diminutive Eight and Seventy-one looked bulky and ready to go toe-to-toe with a starship all by themselves.

Four Fifty-one took the first few steps towards the Throne, forcing the shaking in her limbs to a standstill by tensing them. She could show no weakness when confronting the specter of her sister.

"I suppose that an explanation is in order."

Her words wandered the abandoned halls in an echo before dieing in some place far beyond her sight. Three-Twelve leaned forward, a smirk growing across her once-pretty face.

"The Queen did not tell you everything that you needed to know?"  
"She told me of the Borg's purpose, how you dethroned her. However, there are many unanswered questions."

"There are. I have them all, and many many more. Which one could I favor you with?"

"Why did you leave me?"

There was a pause before Three-Twelve replied, giving her ample time for a flat, calculated response. Her voice was her own now, unchorused, but with a thin layer of digitization right at the edge, just enough to remind Four Fifty-one that her sister was long gone.

"I did, but more importantly, I left myself. I left that rotting soul behind and traded it for the abyss, and the abyss rewarded me with immortality."

"Do you have any idea what kind of hell you've put me through? What you've done to Three?"

Three-Twelve stood swiftly, the wires that connected her to the Throne barely disconnecting in time for her ascent. She pointed a crooked finger at Four Fifty-one.

"Do you have any idea what I've been through? Every day waking to find myself more miserable than the last, every moment of happiness rising only to throw me to depths when it left. There was no joy for me in my life, there was nothing but pain."

"So you ended it? You left everyone that cared and loved you behind so you could become this?"

"I did not plan this. I only planned to die. All I wanted was to be free of the anguish that stalked me every moment of my degrading life. To be free, and free I am."

"You've left us to remember you as this, an angry, sad, grotesque creature. There is no freedom, only a tortured form frozen forever in death."

The frown on Three-Twelve's face had anger written in every wrinkle. Four Fifty-one had hit a nerve and she knew it. She found little happiness in ripping out her soul in front of her sister, but there would be no peace for her if she did not.

"You've nothing but cowardice left in you, if you ever had anything else. You ran from everything because you weren't strong enough to face it. You let-"

She was silenced by the sound of Eight's fist cracking against her skull. Four Fifty-one dropped immediately, her rifle skittering across the floor to the wall.

Pulling herself up onto all fours, she looked back towards Three-Twelve, the anger still written across her face. She kept a note of where the near-invisible drone had gone, while she continued to talk.

"You were surrounded by people who loved you, but you were too afraid of losing your status as the 'strong one' that you let it consume you."

Eight hit her again, throwing her back into the floor. Weakly, but with resolve, she pushed herself back to her previous position and continued.

"Pride, that's what did you in, didn't it? Couldn't ask for help. I would have helped. Jameson would have. If you just stopped being a warrior for a minute and held out your hand."

Four Fifty-one caught Eight's foot before it could make contact with her face and jumped to her feet with a solid uppercut. The drone stumbled backwards, gripping her face and letting out muffled swears.

She didn't wait for Eight to recover, continuing to throw punches as furiously as she could. The drone backed up with each hit, towards the edge of the walkway. One after another, she let out as many as she could, though they felt like they were doing little good.

Eight finally stopped her retreat and swung back, but missed, throwing herself off balance. Four Fifty-one dodged and threw herself backwards, hitting the metal grate with a skid. Eight screamed as she stumbled off of the elevated platform to some unknown destination below to be silenced.

Four Fifty-one shakily returned to her feet, continuing to talk as though she had not stopped.

"You were willing to sacrifice everything to hold on to your pride. Your happiness, your love, your family, your life."

She retrieved the rifle and prepared for the next combatant.

"Everything. You placed your own image above all of that."

"Four Fifty-one, dear sister, I brought you here to offer you immortality, to free you of your pain and anguish, to put a universe under you and you insult me?"

"Free like you? You're not free. You're a slave to the person you once were just as much as you were when you were alive. Worse even, since you can't go back and change it. You're stuck in misery for eternity."

Twenty plodded towards her, with Seventeen close on his heels. She powered up the rifle, took aim and fired.

The shot was dead on, killing Twenty instantly. He crumpled to the ground like a broken toy soldier while his accomplice marched forth unperturbed. The second shot hit Seventeen's shield and fizzled out, absorbed. They adapted more quickly than she'd imagined.

He grabbed her by the throat and tossed her into a nearby wall. She slammed into it and dropped to the floor, the sound of cracking ribs echoing in a reverberation.

"Not going to kill me, Three-Twelve? Are you going to beat me into submission?"

"Just helping you see your weakness. Helping you see that you want to join me," Three-Twelve snarled back. "I'm only doing this because I love you."

"Torturing me is a strange way of showing it, sister."

Seventeen grabbed her by the collar, pulling her to her knees and let go with one solid punch after another. Her Imager started to falter and then failed, turning off completely. He hit her a few more times and then stopped.

Four Fifty-one's ears were ringing and her vision was covered in blood, but she could hear the voice of another pleading for mercy.

"Stop it! You're going to kill her! She's your sister Three-Twelve!"

It was Seventy-one, who'd not so much as flinched for this entire ordeal. Her voice was high and squeeky, as though nearly in tears.

Four Fifty-one tried to see what was happening, but her vision was covered in thick black blood. Every time she wiped it away, it was replaced by another wave.

The grip on her collar relinquished and she fell to the floor, her bruised arms just barely slowing her descent into the metal below. She hit it with a thud and stayed there, her hand searching behind her frantically for her rifle.

"I'm sorry that I have to hurt you, sister. I just want you to join me."

"You can never hurt me more than you already have."

She found the gun, covertly moving her fingers around to the grip and trigger. Every few seconds she would wipe away the blood from her eye so she could see where Seventeen was. For now, he stood directly in front of her, ready to resume the beating.

"There was a time, sister, when I would have joined you. When I would have followed you to the depths of hell."

With another wipe, she saw that Seventeen had started to move away. Now was her chance.

In one swift move, she pulled up the rifle and fired it as best she could. The shot leapt from the barrel and landed in the small of Seventeen's back, bypassing his personal shield altogether. And with that, she knew how this had to end.

Another hand gripped her collar and brought her back up to her knees, accented by the sound of a weapon being powered on, not inches from her face.

Seventy-one's voice was close and in a whisper.

"Your weapon won't get through my shields. She will have me kill you if you do not submit. Please, Four Fifty-one, don't make me do this."

With her free hand, she patted Seventy-one on her arm.

"Don't worry, this will all be over soon."

Four Fifty-one hit the appropriate buttons on the rifle from memory. It had been nearly a decade since she'd activated one in this way, but she couldn't risk looking down to check it lest she give away her intentions.

When done she took a deep breath and brought her voice to the calmest that she could manage.

"It's been hard without you Three-Twelve. You were always there, and for a while I just took that for granted. Even though I've been so angry with you for everything you did, I would have forgiven you if you just came back to us."

"Then come to me and we will forgive each other."

Four Fifty-one nodded yes weakly.

Seventy-one let go, giving out an audible sigh of relief. Four Fifty-one crumpled forward, pulling her combadge off as she fell.

Placing her fist against the floor and using the rifle as a crutch, she got slowly to her feet, but stumbled backwards into the wall. She remained there for a moment, regaining her composure while stuffing the rifle, stock-first, into a crack in the wall.

Satisfied that it was secure, she gave herself another breath and wiped the blood from her face once again. With great effort Four Fifty-one shambled forward, towards the center of the room and dropped.

Three-Twelve went to her sister, picking her up and wrapping her in an embrace. Four Fifty-one placed her chin on her sister's shoulder and spoke softly to her.

"I have missed you so much. I wish that I could take you back with me."

"There is no place for me out there, sister. The person I once was is gone, and this is all that remains. My place is here. _Our _place is here."

"I wanted to follow you. I wanted to follow you so badly, if for no other reason than to make the pain stop, but I couldn't."

Sobs started to erupt in slow procession from Four Fifty-one, but they were not returned in kind. There was no love in her arms, nor was there any sister. The being in her embrace was a shell of what once was Three-Twelve, and she could not let this undeath continue any longer.

"I'm so sorry for this, sister. I can't let you haunt us anymore."

With that, Four Fifty-one twisted the combadge to activate it and placed it on Three-Twelve's back. The sound of the rifle powering up could be heard in the background.

"I loved you so much, but I need to let you go."

The rifle fired, striking Three-Twelve in the back. Her sister struggled, but Four Fifty-one held her in place as it released bolt after bolt. After an eternity, the struggling stopped and she could feel her sister's body slowly crumble to ash under her grip.

Four Fifty-one relaxed, and pulled back to see Three-Twelve's expression frozen in confusion. She pushed a lock of hair away from her sister's face and watched her vaporize in her arms.

The metal spike in her chest brought her to the floor, her knees planted into the remains of Three-Twelve. Ash floated around her in an aura of disgrace, a reminder of her crime. It wasn't until this moment, the exact second after her sister was truly gone, that she realized that she had loved no one more.

Seventy-one kneeled down beside Four Fifty-one and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

The Captain shook her head and said nothing, patting the hand of the drone as if she were the one doing the consoling. After a few seconds of forced relief, she took a deep breath and stood. There were other things that needed her attention.

Four Fifty-one looked at the woman impaled on the wall. Though most of the spikes had retracted when Three-Twelve fell, she was still pinned in place.

Seventy-one looked at the Queen as well, with the same question in mind.

"What do we do with her?"

"Without her, the Borg will fall apart. With her, they will eventually rebuild their shattered empire and threaten us in the future."

"So what do we do?"

"The Queen told me that the Borg have a higher purpose, something beyond the realm of what we see from the outside."

Seventy-one moved over to the one side of the Queen and pulled on her leg. With a sound not unlike sheets of tar being pulled apart, she separated her from the wall. The body hit the ground with a dull thud.

"And you believe her?" came the delayed reply from the drone.

"Trusting the Queen is dangerous, but I think she is telling the truth, if only partially. In any case, I cannot condemn a whole species to death, and certainly not my own."

Like a good drone, Seventy-one picked the Queen up from the floor, one arm over her shoulder and began to lug her to the Throne.

"You should get going, Four Fifty-one. She'll start regenerating soon and we both know that she's going to come after you if you're around. She can't assimilate you, but she can certainly kill you."

"What about you?"

"No," Seventy-one said as she shook her head, "I've never belonged anywhere but here. I'll rejoin the Collective when she comes to."

"Are you sure?"  
"Yes."

Four Fifty-one gave her a slow nod.

"I hope the Collective learns something from you Seventy-one."

She pulled the combadge out of her pocket and placed it just below her shoulder, giving it a quick tap after it was secured. Her wrist, like most of her body, was sending waves of pain through her.

"Four Fifty-one to Themis."

The voice of Commander Thauk greeted her.

"Captain. The Borg drones onboard the ship have stopped their advance. You were successful?"

"In a manner of speaking. Is the ship ready to go?"

"No. Lieutenant-Commander Darren reports that it will be several hours before the ship will be ready for warp."

Four Fifty-one sighed as she walked over to the wall to retrieve her rifle.

"Okay. What are we doing about the drones?"

"We are still clearing them out."

"I still have my rifle. Beam me to an area that needs clearing."

There was a brief pause before Thauk replied.

"Are you certain that is wise, Captain?"

"Yes."

"As you wish. Stand by."

Four Fifty-one turned back to Seventy-one, one last time.

"Have to ask again. Are you sure?"

The drone sat down next to the newly-reseated Queen, propping her arm on the Throne.

"As much as I've ever been. The Borg are my people."

"For better or worse," Four Fifty-one said softy, "me too."

Four Fifty-one's Imager came back on and went through its boot-up sequence, registering all the damage throughout her body. It was significantly less than what it felt like, only a few minor systems located in the head region were in any kind of serious condition. She took one last look at the Throne and her reflection in the wall behind it. Though Seventy-one looked to be another creature entirely, Four Fifty-one could see her own face in the seated royalty.

All the signs were there, but muted as if a facsimile created by a different sculptor. There was the same little flat nose and the high cheekbones coming to dulls point just to the underside of the lips. The curvature of their chins was similar too, a slight swish that headed at symmetrical angles back towards their small ears. With their faces side by side she could see it clearly, even as the room faded away.

Four Fifty-one materialized to a few security officers and Lieutenant Raleigh, all who looked like she felt. Their uniforms were clean if not a bit frayed at the edges, agreeing with the sweat on their faces as to their activities for the past hour.

Melissa cocked her head sideways and squinted her eyes at Four Fifty-one.

"You okay, Captain? You look like hell."

"The Borg are terrible hosts."

"Tell me about it. We've been fighting them to a standstill since you left, but they just stopped a few minutes ago."

"We've been granted a brief reprieve. I'd suggest advancing as fast as you can."

She nodded to Four Fifty-one pointing to one of the officers at her side.

"You, go with the Captain. The rest with me."

Four Fifty-one held up her hand in a stopping gesture.

"No. You'll need all the officers you can get. Should the drones come to, I do not believe that they will be much threat to me."

"Alright," Melissa responded incredulously. "I'm heading back towards Engineering. The whole computer system has been on the fritz, so you may not be able to call for backup if you need it."

"Understood, now go. I'll clear this section of the crew deck."

With that, she gave the Lieutenant a slap on the shoulder, sending her on her way.

Four Fifty-one turned towards the long hallway that lead to the aft cargo-hold, and brought her weapon up to her shoulder. She proceeded down, checking rooms as quickly as she could, popping in and surveying the area with a quick sweep before moving to the next.

All of the rooms were unoccupied, their things left abandoned in their places. The previous tenants had vacated the area quickly.

There were significantly less drones in the area than she had anticipated. In the first twenty rooms or so she'd not come across more than a half-dozen, only three of which were deactivated rather than dead. She vaporized them as an act of mercy in her mind, freeing them from the Queen, but refusing to damn them to life outside of the Collective.

The rooms that were in lockdown she skipped, stopping only when she reached a conference room that looked to have been forcefully entered. The door was torn from its tracks on one side with the metal bent around as if by hand. She brought her weapon to bear and ducked through.

Two male drones stood in the corner near a flickering wall panel, deactivated but standing. She slid her finger to the trigger and froze at the sound of someone crying.

Four Fifty-one looked over the top of her weapon and made a slow strafe around the table. The room was dark, but she could make out the form of a woman in the corner.

"Are you okay?"

"...don't wanna go back... don't wanna go back..."

She recognized the voice immediately, making a quick dash to her while she called her name.

"Nina?"

Nina stopped mumbling and held out her arms. As Four Fifty-one got closer, she could see her big green eyes widen.

"Four Fifty-one!"

She wrapped her arms around the Captain and squeezed with a strength that Four Fifty-one did not know that she possessed.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Why are you here?"

Nina pulled back and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"We were in the cargo-hold and the Borg beamed in, we ran, Rachael and I. Her hand slipped out of mine in the crowd and I ducked in here. Then these two came in and were about to get me, but then they just went to sleep. I was too scared to move."

"It's fine now, we need to get you to the-"

A terrified expression flashed on to Nina's face as she interrupted.

"They're awake!"

Four Fifty-one turned around just in time to catch the first drone reaching for her. She spun to her feet, grabbing his arm and holding it as far away from her as she could. The assimilation tubules popped out of the arm and then quickly retracted.

She shook her head at it.

"Let's not make that mistake again."

With a grunt, Four Fifty-one decked the drone, sending it reeling backwards over one of the conference chairs. The other raised its hand, the anti-proton weapon in its arm whirring to a start.

There wasn't enough time to get her rifle, so she leapt forward, tackling the drone and sending the shots into the ceiling. Green sparks erupted in a shower, sending emerald flames around the room.

He rolled over top of her, his arm slowly coming down with the weapon ready to fire. Her bruised and tired muscles strained against the weight and power of the drone, but were slowly losing ground.

The weapon began to level with her face and she pushed back with everything she had, but to no avail. He was too strong, and had the advantage.

Then suddenly the weight was lifted from her, the drone flying towards the wall and smashing into a console. Red and yellow sparks joined the fading green ones before all of them died out.

Four Fifty-one dropped her arms to her sides in relief. After a few deep breaths she turned to thank Nina. She was not there.

In the corner, where the small red-haired woman had been, was a large three-legged creature, silhouetted against the red alert message and broken wall panels. It stood, silent, with massive limbs curled to its sides.

She rolled over and grabbed the rifle, spinning to a crouch. Her Imager centered in on the head of the multi-eyed Undine as it looked over its hands as though it'd never seen them before in its life.

"It was true wasn't it? I'm not the real Nina, I never was."

The voice was that of Nina's, but it came from un-moving lips on its disgusting face. It made no attempt to attack her, its tone shifting softly from panic to somber in a way that only Nina's could do.

"I didn't know. I swear. I mean, I did, but I had forgotten."

Four Fifty-one's grip shook as she tried to hold the rifle steady.

"How long?"

"What do you me-"

"HOW LONG?"

The Undine raised its hands in surrender, shirking back as it did.

"Since long before I met you. The original Nina died when they disconnected her from the Collective. I was chosen to take her place since she had no family."

"And the implants?"

"Cosmetic."

Four Fifty-one stood, but did not move the reticle from the creature's head.

"I should turn you over to Starfleet Sciences, or Intelligence."

"I understand."

The voice of Darren snapped the tension, coming over the static-filled intercom.

"Lieutenant-Commander Darren to the Captain."

Four Fifty-one reached over and tapped her communicator and returned to her rifle. Her eyes did not deviate from the Undine.

"Captain here."

"Oh good, finally got through to you. I've gotten the shields back up, but the computer core is almost entirely corrupted. I want to try something a little radical."

"You have my permission to do whatever it takes to get us the heck out of here before those Borg ships come back online."

She nodded to no one and reached over to tap her communicator again. However, Darren continued to talk.

"Well, what I'm thinking is, taking some of the old partially-erased code that I've been cleaning up for the past few months and using that to-"

"I'm sure it's a very fascinating process, Lieutenant-Commander, but I don't have time to listen to the particulars. Do whatever you think is best."

"Uh, right. Darren out."

After following through with hitting her combadge, Four Fifty-one returned her focus to Nina.

"We have to move quickly. Stay behind me and hidden as best you can."

She didn't wait for a response, heading out the exit and slowly down the hall. She checked the next juncture, and finding no crew motioned for the Undine to follow.

Nina bumbled out of the room and crashed into the wall. She held her arms up apologetically to the stern look of Four Fifty-one.

"Sorry, I'm not used to having three legs."

The Captain shook her head and proceeded to the right, keeping an eye out for any security or other personnel. Other than a few dead bodies, mostly drones, the hallways were empty all the way to the door marked 'Shuttlebay-Level 2.'

She keyed in her code and motioned for the Undine to head inside, keeping watch as she did. After Nina was in, she backed into the lift and hit the button for the first floor.

The doors opened to the auxillary bay, which only had the one craft in it, a green Romulan shuttle. She moved towards it, confident that the bay was clear since it had no strategic value to the Borg and was usually unmanned.

With a few key presses Four Fifty-one opened the rear door of the craft and moved to the pilot's seat. The ship was large by Federation standards, more like a Captain's yacht than a standard shuttle. As far as escape vessels were concerned, it was luxurious.

She ran a diagnostic while Nina roamed clumsily around the ship. It was in fairly good condition, with mostly working shields and completely sound structurally. But most importantly, the cloaking device was still in functioning.

Four Fifty-one turned around from the flight console and motioned for the Undine to join her. When Nina arrived, she pointed to the flight control panel.

"Here's where you set your destination. Over here..."

She pointed to a small glowing device to the side.

"...is your cloak. Activate it and then set your destination. The ship will exit the hanger automatically. Do you understand?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Four Fifty-one took in a deep breath and let it out.

"Because... because I don't know the Nina that you replaced. You are the only Nina I know. Sometimes it takes someone you care about becoming the thing you hate before you realize that there was nothing there to hate."

"I'm glad I got to be with you, Four Fifty-one."

The Captain wrapped her arms around the head of the creature and was embraced in turn.

"I am, too."

Four Fifty-one released Nina and pulled away, making her way towards the rear door. She stopped just outside, hand on the door panel and looked back. Whatever Undine mannerisms were, she did not know, but there was sadness written all over its face.

Slapping the close button with a firm thrust, she headed to the nearest station, powering up the shield and lowering the blast doors. In the distance a Cube could be seen, slowly powering to life, lines of green forming across the black exterior.

Four Fifty-one exited the bay without waiting for Nina to depart, heading for the nearest turbo-lift. The sad sigh of the cloaking shuttle paralleled the one that refused to escape her as she increased her pace to a run.

The Captain burst onto the bridge, heading directly to her position at the chair. In route she shot her hand out at Darren who was working in the corner.

"How are we doing on getting everything back online?"  
"Well, we'll see. I'm just about to reboot with the new, er, old code."

She turned to Thauk who had switched seats to the First Officer's chair.

"Otherwise how are we?"

"Casualties were minimal. We transferred the bulk of the non-personnel crew to the saucer. The Romulans have not been moved from their quarters."

"I'm sure they're thrilled about this whole thing."

"They do not have an outside view. I informed them that we were experiencing some turbulence."

Four Fifty-one gave a sly glance to the Vulcan.

"Turbulence?"  
"Turbulence is a word with a very broad definition."

Anagnostou interjected herself into their conversation from the Science station.

"The Cube is coming back online."

"How long?" Four Fifty-one asked while craning her neck to see the officer.

"Probably less than a minute."

"Alright Darren, time to do that radical thing you were talking about."

He hit a few keys on his console before tapping his combadge.

"Alright Vara, hit it."

The ship whined to a stop, everything powering down in an instant. Not even the emergency lighting stayed on, leaving everyone in a silent dark void.

"Don't worry, that's supposed to happen," came Darren's voice in a less-than-reassuring tone.

After a beat, he spoke again.

"Any second now."

The lights started to slowly come back up, but stayed dim. A dark ominous quality suddenly enveloped the bridge. A deep, guttural voice boomed at them from the computer, replacing the flat female voice that normally gave life to the ship.

"Computer online. Voice command mode activated. Stations have been locked."

"That's really creepy," came Brett's meek reply from the Conn.

Four Fifty-one stood and looked at him.

"Can you get us out of here?"  
He shook his head.

"No my console is on, but locked."

The viewscreen finally came up, along with all of the other wall panels, surrounding them with the same gold symbol, rotating on a vertical axis. Darren bobbed his head as he looked around.

"This ship isn't even from this dimension."

Four Fifty-one gave him a quick nod and returned to Brett, who was staring at the viewscreen, mesmerized. He watched as the emblem of Earth with a sword through it rotated a few times before it gave way to the image of the Borg Cube directly in front of the ship.

"We're on a Terran Empire ship?"

She sighed.

"Yes, former. However, we have more pressing matters. Computer, this is Captain Four Fifty-one. Set a course for Earth at maximum warp."

"Unable to comply," it boomed back, "unknown officer Four Fifty-one."

Thauk had joined her at the center of the bridge, leaning over to her as he spoke.

"If I may?"  
"By all means."

"Computer, this is Commander Thauk. Set a course for Earth at maximum warp. Engage slipstream when able."

There was a brief period of silence before it replied in the same thunderous male voice.

"Fleet Admiral Thauk recognized. Setting course for Earth, warp fourteen."

Four Fifty-one patted Thauk on the shoulder as she headed back to her seat.

"Congratulations on your promotion in another dimension."

"Thank you. I will remember this if needed in the future."

"Hopefully we will not."

"Agreed."

Just as the Commander had returned to his chair, the ship came to a halt with a stiff shake. The engines had powered up but not released for the jump to warp.

"This vessel has been caught in a tractor beam from an unknown spacecraft," the computer announced. "Freeing."

The viewscreen changed to a rear view of the Themis just as it released a slew of torpedoes and phaser fire onto the point on the Cube where the beam originated. The amount of damage was overkill, but somehow appropriate.

Once freed, the Themis jumped immediately to warp, leaving the still-hobbling Cubes behind. After she was satisfied that they were not being pursued, Four Fifty-one relaxed into her chair. The weight lifted itself from her shoulders as the slipstream drive engaged.

"Chief, I need my ship returned to a usable form before we fly right past the transwarp gate."

Darren nodded his head vehemently as he started his work.

"Gladly. Let's get the nice lady back."

The screen turned off, the "Transmission Ended" flashing in blue, followed by the door chime. Four Fifty-one reclined in her chair before inviting the visitor into the Ready Room.

"Come in."

The door swished open to reveal Commander Thauk, hands behind his back. He made his way in slowly and took a chair before starting.

"The Chief says that the ship will need a stop at a Starbase before we can return to active duty. I am assuming that the long-range communications are working properly?"

"Yes. I just spoke with Admiral Nichols. He was not as upset as I had thought he would be."

"So, you are still in command of this ship?"

"Surprisingly yes. He said that he would take care of it."

Four Fifty-one leaned on the desk, drawing her finger around on the screen in arbitrary patterns. The galaxy map that was displayed there zoomed around as it attempted to keep up with her movements.

"He is unusually accommodating. We're going to drop off the Romulans, the colonists and head to Sol, where I am going to submit to a private interrogation."

"That does not sound like proper protocol."

"I get the impression that the Admiral does as he pleases. He seems to cut through red tape with remarkable speed."

The Vulcan nodded.

"It does raise questions."

"Please," Four Fifty-one said as she waved her hand, "no more. I'm up to my chin in questions."

"About your sister?"

"That, and other things. The timeline must be a mess."

Thauk rubbed his chin, letting the words sit for a while. When the sentence had formed the way he wanted, he spoke.

"It is a tangled web, temporal mechanics."

"My entire life, my sister has been alive in two different places at the same time. One, the sister I knew, and the other, tearing apart the Borg a quadrant away, setting traps and leaving messages in bottles to lead me to her."

"It is an interesting study in the operation and structure of the Borg as a society. They fell apart under your sister's rule."

Four Fifty-one let out a short laugh.

"Not quite what I meant, but that's entirely understandable. Three-Twelve tried to put the Collective under her thumb. You can't reverse several millenia with a single person."

"It was my understanding that the Queen ruled the Borg. How is that different from your sister's exercises?"

"The Queen is the personification of the Borg will, she does not exert her will on the Collective. She is just as much a slave to the Hive as any drone."

"A many-to-one relationship rather than a one-to-many. Interesting."

The Captain stood, ambling to the large window that made up one wall of the multi-sided Ready Room. She leaned against the glass, drawing the coolness to her through her palm. With a sigh she rested her forehead on the back of the flattened hand and relaxed.

"When aboard the U.S.S. Labra, right after we were Liberated, she tried to kill herself when she found out that she had an explosive implant growing in her. If she would have died then, as the Queen intended, then we would not have gone through all of this."

"That is true."

"Then I would have never have gotten to know her. I'm not sure which would have been worse, to never know her or to lose her."

"For hundreds of years, we have been going farther and farther up, and we've found no heaven anywhere in the sky. The only immortality that we can be assured of is in the hearts and minds of the people we leave behind."

Four Fifty-one pushed herself from the window and turned back towards Thauk. The handprint on the window, Borg implant and all, faded slowly away against the stars.

"You're oddly comforting for a Vulcan."

He shrugged at her as he stood, readjusting his uniform once he was on his feet.

"Simple logic, Captain."

_**Epilogue**_

_And From the Ashes_

The door to the lift opened silently, letting Four Fifty-one out onto Earth Spacedock's promenade. It had been a grueling six hour interrogation, spread over the last week, but the results were better than she could have hoped for, considering her actions.

The four gentlemen, three of which she'd never seen before, had decided to let her keep her command. This was good, but she still walked away with a reprimand on her record. It may come back to haunt her in the future, but it was the best of all the bad endings.

"Fi-Feety-one!"

Three held out her arms and ran to her from the other side of the open area. Four Fifty-one scooped her up when she arrived and held her to her side.

"How have you been, little girl?"

"I'm fine! We went to the ice-cream place and then we went and saw the fountain and then we went to see the new ships!"

"Sounds fun."

The child nodded her head and looked back towards the man behind her. He gave a half-smile and approached, arms behind his back.

"And I suppose that I should collect a childcare fee of some kind, Captain? After all, now that I have no country, I am a poor man."

Four Fifty-one gave a suppressed chuckle and let Three back down to the floor.

"Well, some might argue that I am not in my right mind to leave my child with a prisoner of war."

"Captain, a P.O.W., really? I am a refugee, and have been for the entire time we've been here. Cast from my family and home to exile with the Federation."

"I thought you didn't have a family or home."

"I didn't, but how am I going to make you feel sorry for me otherwise?"

Four Fifty-one put out her hand for Three to grab, which she did, and started to walk across the promenade.

"You want me to feel sorry for you E'Lev?"

The Romulan kept pace with her, just off to the other side.

"Will it help?"

"Hasn't so far."

"Then I suppose you'll just have to keep adoring me for other reasons."

"And what would those be?"

E'Lev shrugged while smirking.

"My charming demeanor, my handsomeness, my intellect and my complete irresistibility."

"That's quite a list."

"And all true. Also, I'd make a fine addition to your crew. I looked at your register and you haven't a single Romulan."

"That might be one too many. Romulans aren't well-liked around here."

They stopped at a lift to the upper area, waiting for it to come back down. E'Lev leaned over to look at Three. She smiled at him when they made eye contact.

"Three, do you think I should come with you on your ship?"

"Yeep!" the girl said while nodding quickly.

"See Captain? Two-to-one. We win. Don't be a sore loser."

Four Fifty-one let the smile surface as she proceeded into the now open turbo-lift. The Romulan kept his hand on the door-frame so it would not close, eyes trained on her for an answer.

"Well?"

She leaned forward and gave him a kiss, peeling his hand off of the door so it would close.

"Gross," Three said from behind her.

Four Fifty-one released and pulled away, letting the door shut. E'Lev held up his finger as he spoke.

"So that is a yes, then."

"It certainly isn't a no."

The lift started to take them up, the ground and all the people on it receding away from them. Three looked up at Four Fifty-one, hanging onto her pants as though she might tumble out of the turbo-lift.

"I like 'Lev. Is he, is he gonna be my dad?"

Four Fifty-one laughed.

"It doesn't work that fast dear, we just met him a month ago. But if he was your dad, then someone would have to be your mom."

"Oh. Well you can, uh, do it, cantcha?"

"If you want."

Three paused for a moment, looking out at the floors of people passing them. She gripped Four Fifty-one's leg tighter.

"I think, um, I think you'd make a good mom."

"Why thank you, Three. And you'd make a good daughter."

"Then we- then we should just, um, do that."

Four Fifty-one picked up Three and gave her a squeeze. The child wrapped her hands around her neck and returned in kind.

"Then we will."

In its current state, it was a small wonder that the computer could even understand his request, much less fulfill it. Though the response time was slow, the female voice of the ship came back with an estimate that matched about what he had figured.

"Two-hundred forty-five years, nine months and ten days of life support left at current power levels."

The computer wasn't good for much more than doing math, since the bulk of the processing core now lay scatter across several dimensions. It could do calculations, replicate a decent meal and show the corridors of the vessel that still had power, but little else. It was from here that he had done most of his exploration of the ship, since it was too dangerous to venture much further than the hallway beyond this room.

The warp core was surprisingly still intact, though the entirety of the Engineering section was devoid of atmosphere, ruptured by feedback channeled through the deflectors. A succession of small explosions and subsequent plasma flash-fires burned a path straight through to the outer hull, decompressing much of the lower decks. His calculations had been correct, tearing open the rift at the exact times it needed to be, but that success had taken its toll.

Most of the spherical saucer section was destroyed in jagged slices, giving it the appearance of an orange with a bite taken out of it. There had been forcefields in place to hold in the air there as well, but the power expenditure could not be afforded in the long-term. One by one he'd brought the decks into lockdown and disconnected power. Now there was but one deck and a few backups running on their lowest setting, since there was but the one occupant for the entire ship.

The cargo area held together fairly well, only a hole about five-by-five meters had been taken out of one corner. It was quickly sealed by a forcefield that flickered every so often to remind you of its existence.

He had placed his workbench in front of the opening, so he would have something besides the gunmetal gray of the rest of the room to admire. The light emanating from the outside was more than enough to work by, though the colors sometimes confused his eyes.

Even with months of time staring at it, the show on the other side of the forcefield was still as beautiful as when he'd first seen it. A rainbow of colors, like that produced when light reflected off of oils, appeared in ribbons across the sky, drifting in random patterns. The neon clouds danced to their own slow beat, moving undetectably in swirls that formed and fell apart so slowly that one could only see a change if they looked away for a period of time.

There didn't seem to be any beginning or end to it, all laying on one another, ordered and yet not. Through a myriad of patterns pulling and tugging at each other, the room was bathed in a soft, insistent light.

He sat at the bench and picked the tool he had set down earlier, taking one last note of the streams on the other side of the forcefield before focusing on his project. With a swish of the hard piece of metal in his hand, he began to add definition to the bust before him, placing the wrinkles where they should be.

This was the third of five that he intended to put together, and he'd gotten quite good, if he did say so himself. Time was on his side, as it always had been, and with the wait he'd worked to turn his passion into a talent. There was still a long way to go, but he had a long time to go that way.

After a few more strokes he stopped, admired the view again and returned to his work. It would be a while before anyone would come to find him, if anyone bothered. He didn't mind. This was all he had ever wanted to do, so the rescue party could take forever if they wanted.

There was much to be missed in the place he had come from, but his part there was finished, for now and possibly ever. This dimension was beautiful, remote and lifeless. He had two-hundred and forty-five years to enjoy himself, and he intended to use every minute.


End file.
